TODDIE 


0T  CMJF,  M**AWY.  10* 


\  :A\ 


TODDIE 


THE   ROMANCE   OF   A   WOMAN   HATER 


AUTHOR   OF        FORBIDDEN    GKOUND,      ETC.,   ETC. 


FRONTISPIECE  BY 
R.  G.  VOSBURGH 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1911 


Copyright,  1911,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Published  September,  1911 


TODDIE 


TODDIE 


CHAPTER  I 

HAVE  you  ever  stood  in  the  rain  and  the  dark- 
ness,   fearfully    anticipating    a    cook,    when 
every  inch  of  your  person  yearned  for  a  familiar  cor- 
ner in  a  hopelessly  distant  bar? 

If  you  have  then  you  can  sympathize  with  Toddie. 

As  Toddie  stood  there  waiting  for  his  knock  to  be 
answered  and  more  than  half  inclined  to  run  away, 
the  little  caddie  recalled  his  master's  words :  "  Go 
round  to  the  kitchen,  Toddie,  dry  yourself  at  the  fire, 
and  Devina  will  give  you  tea." 

The  Major  had  meant  kindly  no  doubt,  but  he 
had  been  prompted  thereto  by  his  companion.  Why 
had  she  joined  them?  It  was  all  the  fault  of  the 
mist.  Had  she  not  lost  her  way  they  would  still 
have  been  practising  approach  shots  untroubled  by 
women.  And  now  his  master  had  been  beguiled  in 
at  the  front  door,  and  he,  Toddie,  had  been  per- 
emptorily ordered  to  the  back,  lured  by  the  same  in- 
sidious bait  —  warmth  and  tea. 

3 


TODDIE 

A  not  unwelcome  proposal  to  wet  and  thirsty  men, 
it  might  be  supposed;  but,  whatever  the  master's 
feelings  upon  the  subject,  the  caddie  at  all  events 
viewed  it  with  dark  suspicion  —  from  which  the 
reader  may  infer  that  Toddie  was  that  unnatural  and 
misguided  creature,  a  woman  hater. 

He  knocked  again,  but  barely  had  his  wet  and  be- 
numbed knuckles  come  into  contact  with  the  door 
than  the  latter  opened  unexpectedly.  A  fierce  light 
leaped  out,  a  disconcerting  brightness  that  appeared 
to  take  an  inhuman  pleasure  in  drawing  attention  to 
his  battered  cap,  his  grimy  muffler,  his  out-at-elbows 
jacket,  his  frayed  and  sodden  trousers,  and  his  wet 
and  anxious  face. 

Within,  but  peering  outwards  through  the  nar- 
now  slit,  was  a  female  in  black,  speechless,  forbid- 
ding. Toddie  could  see  her  cap.  His  courage  fled. 

Wetting  his  lips  with  his  tongue,  he  stared  help- 
lessly at  the  apparition.  His  brain,  working  uncon- 
sciously along  old  and  professional  grooves,  searched 
for  anything  likely  to  offer  assistance. 

"  Be  up,"  suggested  itself,  but  was  instantly  and 
indignantly  repudiated.  Be  up,  indeed;  he  was  too 
near  her  as  it  was! 

"  Come  in,"  she  said. 

He  hesitated. 

"  Come  in,"  she  repeated.  As  she  spoke,  she 
opened  the  door  slowly  and  grudgingly. 


TODDIE 

Once  inside,  his  eyes  blinked  weakly  at  the  cheery 
fire,  at  the  spotless  table,  at  the  dresser  with  its  rows 
of  winking  plates,  and  at  the  face  of  Devina.  The 
last  mentioned  swept  all  else  from  his  mind.  To  use 
his  own  words  —  whispered  later  in  husky  confidence 
to  Bob  — "  It  just  gripped  ye.  Man,  Bob,  it  just 
put  the  fear  o'  death  on  ye." 

Yet  it  was  by  no  means  an  unpleasant  countenance, 
for  the  dark  eyes  were  more  indicative  of  sadness 
than  austerity,  and  the  mouth,  if  stern,  had  been 
known  to  soften  on  occasions  to  a  very  tender 
smile. 

For  the  moment,  however,  its  expression  was  far 
from  reassuring;  and,  truth  to  tell,  had  Toddie  been 
a  recently  imported  cannibal,  and  had  Devina  been 
requested  to  give  him  tea,  she  could  not  have  under- 
taken the  task  with  more  unfeigned  reluctance. 

"  What  a  mess  1  "  she  ejaculated  with  high  disap- 
probation, and  not  without  reason,  for  a  pool  of  con- 
siderable dimensions  was  rapidly  transforming  Tod- 
die  into  an  island. 

"  I  canna  help  it,"  said  the  culprit  sulkily. 

"  Here  —  stand  still,  till  I  get  a  cloth  to  ye." 

She  was  back  in  a  moment.  Any  one  with  half  an 
eye  could  see  that  she  was  a  born  worker.  In  a 
twinkling  Toddie  stood  upon  dry  ground. 

"  Take  off  yer  boots,"  was  her  next  remark. 

Toddie  frowned,  opened  his  mouth  to  refuse,  then 
5 


TODDIE 

mechanically,  as  one  under  an  evil  spell,  began  to 
fumble  at  the  knots. 

Ruthlessly  exposed,  the  holes  in  his  socks  protested 
against  the  indignity. 

Grimly  Devina  surveyed  her  guest.  Of  unusual 
height,  she  looked  down  upon  him  from  an  altitude 
that  overawed  him.  Her  handsome  face  still  ex- 
pressed disapproval. 

"  Give  me  yer  coat,"  she  commanded. 

"  Bob,"  said  Toddie  later,  with  awful  solemnity, 
"  Bob,  ye  won't  believe  me,  an'  I  'm  not  blamin'  ye, 
but  it 's  God's  truth  the  woman  took  the  verra  coat 
off  ma  back ;  an'  I  was  in  sair  fear  she  would  ask  for 
ma  breeks  too." 

Not  till  the  dripping  garment  had  been  hung  up 
to  dry,  and  a  semi-clad  and  bewildered  Toddie  had 
been  planted  close  to  the  fire,  did  the  enemy  turn  her 
attention  to  the  rites  of  hospitality.  The  expedi- 
tious way  that  tea  made  its  appearance  was  not  the 
least  among  the  wonders  of  the  night. 

"  Two  lumps  ?  "  questioned  Devina  severely. 

"  Three,"  muttered  Toddie. 

He  took  the  cup  from  her  and  nervously  stirred 
the  contents  with  the  handle  of  the  butter-knife,  till, 
encountering  her  eye,  he  hastily  substituted  a 
spoon. 

The  warmth  of  tea,  combined  with  the  heat  of  the 
fire,  thawed  the  cold  out  of  his  joints.  Yet  physical 

6 


TODDIE 

well-being  failed  to  counteract  mental  anxiety.  He 
must  be  on  his  guard,  he  told  himself,  for  you  never 
could  tell  what  a  woman  would  be  at  next.  "  Black," 
he  criticized,  stealing  furtive  glances  at  his  hostess. 
"  How  comes  it  she  's  wearin'  black  on  a  week-day  ? 
Maybe  somebody  's  dead?  "  Her  neatness  and  clean- 
ness made  him  vaguely  uncomfortable.  And  as  for 
the  genteel  way  she  munched  her  toast !  "  Weel, 
there  was  nae  word  for  it."  Her  figure,  too,  made 
him  ill  at  ease.  Not  it  alone,  but  the  masses  of  dark 
hair  coiled  behind  her  shapely  head,  the  turn  of  her 
neck  when  she  faced  the  fire,  even  the  way  she  poured 
out  tea  —  all  were  alarmingly  feminine. 

"  What 's  your  name  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

At  the  answer  she  actually  laughed.  It  was  won- 
derful how  a  laugh  became  her. 

"  Toddie?  "  she  repeated.     "  That 's  a  drink !  " 

"  Ye  may  say  that,  Devina,"  he  guffawed,  under 
the  influence  of  this  stimulating  idea. 

Swiftly  her  face  darkened. 

"Who  gave  you  permeesion  to  call  me  Devina?" 
she  demanded.  Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she 
swept  on: 

"  Ma  name  's  Miss  Greig,  as  I  would  have  ye  know ; 
and  I  allow  no  man  to  miscall  me." 

The  awkward  silence  that  ensued  was  broken  only 
by  the  fire.  It  was  marvelous  how  it  managed  to  re- 
tain its  heat. 

7 


TODDIE 

Still  suffering  from  extreme  nervousness  Toddie 
had  thoughts  of  spitting,  but  refrained.  Devina 
likewise  was  far  from  being  herself;  for,  producing 
a  work-basket  with  an  assumption  of  indifference, 
she  began  to  inspect  an  unfinished  garment,  then, 
suddenly  conscious  of  the  presence  of  a  man,  ban- 
ished it  in  confusion. 

For  a  while  they  both  sat  quite  still  and  if  the 
truth  were  known,  each  longed  for  the  other  to  be 
gone.  Gradually  Toddie's  thoughts  wandered  to  the 
subject  that  preoccupied  his  mind  —  his  master,  now 
presumably  conducting  a  similar  campaign  in  the 
drawing-room.  Were  they  not  allies,  single  men, 
confronting  the  same  peril?  Indeed  had  it  not  been 
for  this  conviction,  and  the  belief  that  by  sharing 
his  master's  danger  he  was  to  some  extent  supporting 
him,  Toddie  would  have  been  by  no  means  so  easily 
beguiled  into  a  kitchen. 

Regarding  his  employer's  ultimate  safety  he  felt 
no  anxiety.  Even  the  Major's  audible  pleasure  when 
meeting  the  lady  in  the  mist,  his  altered  voice,  his 
words,  betraying  a  refinement  of  language  unknown 
to  golf,  his  alacrity  in  accompanying  her  had  failed 
to  alarm  him,  for  he  attributed  all  to  the  artificial 
polish  of  the  upper  classes. 

Did  he  not  know  the  Major?  Had  not  his  master 
eluded  the  toils  of  matrimony  for  forty  years?  Were 
not  his  days  passed  at  golf  and  his  evenings  at  the 

8 


TODDIE 

club?  This  visit  was  plainly  an  accident.  No. 
There  was  no  cause  for  anxiety. 

His  attention  turned  to  his  companion.  She  was 
leaning  forward,  her  chin  sunk  to  the  palm  of  her 
hand,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire.  An  expression  of 
somber  melancholy  darkened  her  face. 

"Greig?"  muttered  Toddie  thoughtfully.  "I 
mind  the  name.  You  '11  no'  be  the  daughter  of  Geor- 
die  Greig,  him  we  called  Skipper,  drowned  in  the 
harbor  a  matter  o'  five  year  back?  " 

"  Aye." 

"  I  'm  sorry,"  he  murmured,  for  her  tone  made 
him  feel  that  he  had  stumbled  unwarrantably  upon 
a  private  and  enduring  grief. 

"  You  '11  be  a  caddie?  "  she  said. 

"  Just  that." 

"  A  hard  life,"  she  mused,  and  for  the  moment  her 
voice  held  unaccountable  sympathy. 

"  Oh,  betwixt  an'  between,"  said  Toddie,  instinct- 
ively suspicious  of  all  female  compassion. 

"  It 's  no  life  for  an  able-bodied  man,"  she  re- 
sumed, with  a  fresh  access  of  gruffness.  "  I  'd  rather 
break  stones  upon  the  road.  Ye  look  strong,  an' 
ye  're  not  that  old ;  can  ye  no'  find  onythin'  better  to 
do  than  runnin'  after  a  silly  ball  ?  " 

Toddie  rubbed  his  hands  up  and  down  his  trouser- 
legs.  "  It 's  meat  and  drink  to  me,"  he  growled  in 
self-defense. 


TODDIE 

"  More  drink  than  meat,  I  '11  be  bound." 

A  ghost  of  a  twinkle  crept  into  Toddie's  eyes,  but 
he  banished  it  in  an  access  of  caution. 

"  You  '11  be  a  cook?  "  he  suggested,  then  smiled,  for 
he  considered  this  adroit  change  of  subject  "  awful 
clever." 

"  I  was,  but  now  I  'm  the  maid." 

Toddie  pursed  his  lips.  His  knowledge  of  maids 
was  limited  to  occasional  glimpses  of  the  species  seen 
between  the  bars  of  area  railings.  They  had  always 
filled  him  with  lively  apprehension. 

"  Where  —  where  are  the  ithers  ?  "  he  questioned, 
peering  round  him  nervously. 

"  Ye  '11  not  find  them  there.  That 's  the  larder. 
Cook  's  gone  to  see  her  mither ;  and  Jessie  's  away 
gallivantin'." 

"And  you  sit  here  alone?" 

"  Not  as  a  rule.     I  'm  generally  up  the  stair." 

He  stole  a  glance  at  her,  and  finding  her  gazing 
into  the  fire,  was  emboldened  to  inspect  her  with  a 
fearful  and  furtive  curiosity. 

"  What 's  the  difference  between  a  maid  and  a 
cook?  "  he  blurted  suddenly. 

"Are  you  for  askin'  riddles?"  she  inquired  scath- 
ingly. 

"  No,  no ;  I  thought  — " 

"Weel,  can  ye  no'  speak?  What  did  you 
think?  " 

10 


TODDIE 

"  I  thought  all  women  were  maids  till  —  till  they 
married." 

She  cast  a  look  of  unutterable  contempt  at  his  in- 
nocent and  serious  countenance,  then  turned  away. 

"  Did  ye  never  hear  tell  o'  a  lady's  maid?  "  she 
asked  abruptly. 

Toddie  pondered,  then  brightened. 

"  I  've  heard  o'  an  auld  maid,"  he  said  hopefully. 

What  induced  the  woman  to  ejaculate  "  Impi- 
dence ! "  Toddie  could  never  understand.  The  inci- 
dent, though  trivial,  added  to  his  nervousness. 

"  What  d'  ye  come  here  for,  wastin'  my  time?  " 
she  demanded,  after  a  lengthy  pause.  No  intentional 
rudeness  lurked  in  the  interrogation.  Devina  spoke 
in  all  simplicity,  as  one  stating  a  fact. 

"  I  was  told  to  come,"  he  answered  with  resigna- 
tion. 

"Who  told  ye?" 

"  The  Major  —  and  her." 

"Miss  Charity?" 

"  Aye." 

Devina's  face  became  thoughtful. 

"  She  told  me,  too.  I  wonder  at  her,"  she  said 
slowly. 

"  And  I  wonder  at  him,"  pronounced  Toddie  with 
decision. 

Then  little  by  little  they  drifted  into  desultory 
conversation  —  prompted  thereto  by  a  melancholy  ac- 

11 


TODDIE 

ceptation  of  the  inevitable  rather  than  by  motives 
of  sociability. 

"  Ah,  but  he 's  a  fine  schollard,"  cried  Toddie, 
launching  complacently  upon  a  topic  dear  to  his 
heart.  "  It 's  just  amazin'  how  much  he  knows. 
Book  learnin'  's  a  queer  thing."  Here  he  passed  a 
thoughtful  hand  over  his  untidy  hair.  "  I  some- 
times think  it  depends  on  the  size  o'  a  man's  head. 
A  grand  player,  too ;  we  won  the  Jubilee  Vase  the- 
gither,  so  we  did.  An'  kind  —  see  here — "  he 
reached  out  for  his  boots,  "  these  were  his  once  — 
London  made,  no  less.  A  wee  thing  worn  in  the 
soles  —  but  ah  1  there 's  a  bonnie  pair  of  uppers  for 
ye!" 

He  broke  off;  for,  despite  his  genuine  and  whole- 
hearted enthusiasm,  he  was  disconcerted  by  this  grim 
and  silent  woman  who  appeared  to  look  through  and 
through  him  with  her  somber,  observant  eyes.  She 
plainly  took  no  interest  in  boots.  She  did  not  even 
seem  to  see  them !  This  amazing  want  of  apprecia- 
tion, casting  as  it  did  an  aspersion  upon  the  former 
property  of  his  master,  roused  Toddie  into  mild  re- 
sentment. With  a  desire  to  impress  her  at  all  costs, 
he  continued: 

"  Him  an'  me  has  walked  the  links  thegither  five 
year  come  Martinmas,  wet  or  fine,  on  or  off,  aye, 
ever  since  he  was  minded  to  give  heathen  countries 
the  go-by  and  live  respectable  in  his  native  land.  I 

12 


TODDIE 

tell  ye,  he 's  rich."  He  leaned  over  the  table  to- 
wards her,  his  eyes  big  with  importance.  "  Oh,  I  've 
seen  his  room,  two  rooms,  no  less.  Ye  dinna  seem 
partial  to  boots,  but  his  neckties  I  Weel,  I  wish  ye 
could  see  them;  ye  just  couldna  help  being  stag- 
gered." 

"  I  'm  not  carin'." 

Toddie  flushed.  The  deep,  contemptuous  voice 
broke  rudely  upon  his  paean  of  praise.  It  contin- 
ued: 

"What  do  I  care  for  yer  Major?  What's  he 
come  here  for;  answer  me  that,  you  that  brought 
him?" 

"  Me  I     Me  that  brought  him ! " 

"  Aye,  you.  Did  he  not  come  here  with  you  the  day? 
An'  the  ither  days,  if  ye  didna  bring  him  ye  knew 
fine  where  he  was." 

"  Ither  days! "  he  ejaculated  in  sudden  consterna- 
tion. "  Here!  I  didna  know." 

"  Weel,  ye  should  ha'  known,  and  that 's  as  bad. 
D'  ye  hear?  "  Her  voice  rang  loud  and  hard.  "  I 
mistrust  it." 

He  could  only  stare  at  her,  speechless. 

"  An'  as  for  yer  flatterin'  tongue,  I  dinna  believe 
a  word  ye  're  sayin'.  You  men  are  all  alike.  / 
know !  Ye  tell  lies  about  each  other  as  easy  as 
winkin'.  Kind,  is  he !  Let  him  keep  his  kindness  out 
of  our  drawing-room.  And  more  —  ye  think  be- 

13 


TODDIE 

cause  I  say  little  I  canna  see !  Ye  're  wrong.  I  see 
fine.  Major,  say  you!  What's  he  anyway  com- 
pared to  my  Miss  Charity  ?  Him!"  She  snapped  her 
fingers  in  contempt.  "  Not  fit  to  clean  her  boots. 
I  tell  ye  once  for  all  there  's  not  a  finer  dressed  leddy 
in  the  town,  no,  nor  a  better,  nor  a  bonnier,  nor  a 
kinder  in  all  Scotland." 

"  I  'm  not  denyin'  it ! " 

She  gave  vent  to  a  short  and  scornful  laugh. 

"  Denyin'  it !  I  should  think  not  indeed !  Drink- 
ing her  good  two-shilling  tea  and  denyin'  it!  Ma 
word !  I  'd  have  ye  out  of  her  kitchen  in  a  minute." 

Before  Toddie  could  recover,  a  peculiar  and  nasal 
sound  made  itself  heard.  His  face  brightened. 

"  What 's  that?  "  said  Devina  suspiciously.  "  Was 
that  you?  " 

"Na.     That's  Bob." 

"Who?" 

"  Just  Bob.  He 's  come  for  me.  I  '11  have  to 
go.  Ye  see  Bob  will  nose  me  oot  o'  ony  house  in 
the  town.  There's  not  anither  dog  in  St.  Andrews 
to  beat  him  at  smells.  Here,  keep  quiet.  I  'm 
comin'." 

When  his  boot 5  were  on  he  looked  at  her  doubt- 
fully. She  returned  his  look  with  a  steady  stare,  not 
bold,  but  full  of  a  gloomy  and  brooding  antagonism. 
Ha  faced  her  for  a  moment,  breathed  hard  like  a 
man  who  would  fain  speak  but  is  at  a  loss  for  words, 

14 


TODDIE 

then  bidding  her  good  night,  marched  hastily  to  the 
door. 

As  she  remained  seated  by  the  fire  she  heard  frantic 
yelps  of  delight  mingling  with :  "  Doon,  Bob,  ye 
auld  deevil !  That 's  no  way  to  behave.  Keep  doon, 
ye  wee  rascal !  Man,  but  ye  're  wet !  Come  on." 

Then  the  door  closed  and  she  was  left  alone. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  DAY  of  rain  —  steady,  hopeless  rain  —  fall- 
ing from  a  sky  that  domed  land  and  sea  like 
a  vast  leaden  extinguisher.  A  dun  yellow  light,  like 
the  dawn  of  some  unearthly  day,  replaced  the  dark- 
ness of  night  with  a  wan  and  sinister  gloom  through 
which  all  things  —  the  club-house,  the  two  big  ho- 
tels, the  rows  of  gray  houses,  the  deserted  links  and 
the  sea,  heaving  under  a  northerly  swell,  showed  as 
so  many  misty  phantoms.  Water  everywhere.  It 
dripped  from  the  roofs,  it  gushed  down  the  gutters, 
it  lay  in  pools  in  every  depression  of  the  links,  it  sat- 
urated the  heavy  gravel  opposite  the  club-house  and 
squelched  under  the  heavy  boots  of  the  hall-porter 
as  he  forsook  the  shelter  of  the  porch  in  order  to 
cast  a  gloomy  eye  at  the  weather. 

The  big  clock  that  decorated  the  wall  of  the  club- 
house pointed  to  eight,  yet  despite  the  matutinal 
hour  and  the  hopeless  character  of  the  day,  several 
men  might  have  been  seen  within  the  caddie  shelter. 
It  was  a  bare  and  cheerless  building.  The  boards 
that  composed  the  floor  were  worn  and  dirty. 

A  single  bench  ran  round  the  interior,  the  wood- 
16 


TODDIE 

work  of  which  was  polished  by  continual  friction. 
An  iron  heat  radiator  stood  at  one  end,  but  as  it  had 
not  been  lighted,  its  ugliness  but  emphasized  the 
cheerless  character  of  the  scene.  Three  windows  and 
a  door,  usually  open,  gave  light  to  those  within. 
Two  of  the  former  looked  out  on  to  the  restricted 
area  where  the  caddies  were  wont  to  march  to  and  fro 
in  fair  weather  —  the  third  commanded  the  club- 
house. A  small  inner  opening  large  enough  for  a 
man's  head  and  shoulders,  communicated  with  the 
caddie-master's  box. 

Upon  the  occasion  in  question,  the  air  within  this 
building  was  heavy  with  moisture,  chill  with  wintry 
cold,  acrid  with  the  faint  odor  of  decaying  seaweed, 
and  unpleasantly  suggestive  of  musty  and  saturated 
clothing. 

Five  men  waited  here  for  the  employers  who  never 
came  —  waited  with  what  patience  and  hopefulness 
they  could  summon  to  their  aid.  One,  well  stricken 
with  years,  was  seated  on  the  bench.  The  water 
dripped  from  his  threadbare  coat;  it  glistened  on  his 
thin  and  wrinkled  face,  but  he  appeared  unconscious 
of  it.  With  knees  close  together,  back  bent  nearly 
double,  head  sunk  forward  on  his  chest,  and  blue 
hands  limp  and  pendant  by  his  side  he  stared  out- 
wards at  the  driving  rain  with  an  air  of  apathetic 
vacuity.  Another,  known  as  "  daft  Willy "  stood 
near  the  door,  a  vacant  smile  on  his  long,  expression- 


TODDIE 

less  face.  The  other  three,  stout  fellows  enough, 
strolled  up  and  down,  shuffling  their  feet  upon  the 
sodden  boards,  pausing  occasionally  to  gaze  out  of 
the  streaming  window-panes,  to  expectorate,  and  to 
mutter  curses  at  the  weather. 

"  It 's  on  for  the  day,"  growled  Murdock  —  a 
thick-set  man  with  a  bull-neck.  "And  a  mighty 
poor  chance  of  a  round  for  us." 

"  Some  plays  in  the  rain,"  quavered  the  old  man 
on  the  bench  in  a  voice  that  belied  the  apparent  hope- 
fulness of  the  remark. 

"Very  few,  Tarn,"  said  a  bearded  giant,  known 
as  big  McPhee,  filling  a  clay  pipe.  "  I  wish  I  'd 
stopped  in  ma  bed.  Dang  these  matches ;  a  body  's 
boots  are  that  wet  they  winna  strike  at  all." 

"  There  's  Mr.  Macdonald,"  observed  Murdoch. 

"Where?"  questioned  Hunter.  "Aye,  so  it  is. 
Ah,  he  '11  no'  be  playin'  the  day ;  see  to  his  mackin- 
tosh, it 's  sittin'  by  the  club  fire  he  '11  be  after." 

"  A  fire  's  a  fine  thing,"  said  Tarn  wistfully,  but  no 
one  paid  him  attention.  For  some  time  there  was  a 
mournful  silence.  McPhee,  who  had  at  last  man- 
aged to  light  his  pipe,  puffed  energetically.  The 
reek  of  the  coarse  tobacco  permeated  the  damp  chilly 
air,  floated  through  the  shelter  and  found  its  way 
through  the  open  door.  The  drip  of  the  rain  kept 
up  a  monotonous  accompaniment  to  the  faint  and 
far-off  moaning  of  the  sea.  The  old  man,  his  eyes 

18 


TODDIE 

closed,  relapsed  into  a  state  of  somnolent  indiffer- 
ence. The  half-witted  lad  continued  to  smile  va- 
cantly at  his  hands.  In  his  open  mouth  with  its 
weak  pendulous  lips  the  few  discolored  teeth  stood 
out  like  fragments. 

"  Here  's  Toddie,"  cried  Murdoch  suddenly.  He 
was  staring  through  the  streaming  window-pane,  and 
spoke  in  the  voice  of  one  who  anticipates  amuse- 
ment. 

"  Aye,  so  it  is,"  corroborated  McPhee,  looking  over 
his  companion's  shoulder.  "  What  the  deevil  brings 
him  out  on  a  day  like  this?  That  Major  o'  his  is 
terrible  afeared  o'  water.  Says  he  to  Colonel  Fife, 
the  ither  day,  '  I  change  ma  shirt  every  time  I 
sweat.'  " 

The  laughter  with  which  this  statement  was  re- 
ceived was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Toddie. 

"  Weel,  lads,  glad  to  see  ye  sae  merry,"  he  said, 
beaming  upon  the  company.  Under  his  influence 
they  all  brightened  up,  and  even  Tarn  overcame  his 
predisposition  to  exist  entirely  in  the  past. 

"  Ye  're  no'  for  playin'  the  day,  are  ye?  "  ques- 
tioned Murdoch. 

"  Weel,"  said  Toddie,  ringing  the  moisture  from 
his  cap,  "  I  came  doon  to  see,  but  they  tell  me  the 
Major's  no'  in  the  club  yet.  Ah,  he's  wise.  What 
a  rain !  There  will  be  a  lot  o'  casual  water  after 
this,  I'm  thinkin'." 

19 


TODDIE 

"  What 's  this  I  hear  aboot  ye,  Toddie?  "  said  Mc- 
Phee  with  a  wink  to  the  others. 

"Eh?" 

"  They  tell  me  ye  took  yer  tea  wi*  a  woman  the 
ither  night." 

Toddie's  cheerful  face  darkened.  His  companions 
did  not  share  his  despondency,  for  a  smile  appeared 
on  every  face.  Even  Tarn's  bleared  eyes  twinkled, 
and  as  for  Daft  Willy,  his  large  mouth  expanded 
so  far  that  it  appeared  doubtful  if  it  would  ever 
again  resume  its  normal  proportions. 

"  It 's  true,  then  ?  "  chuckled  Murdoch. 

"Aye,"  said  Toddie  reluctantly.  "It's  a  fact; 
though  there  's  naethin'  to  grin  at.  Oh,  it  wasna  ma 
idea.  What  was  I  to  dae  when  I  was  telt  to  go  in? 
Me  that  cold  and  wet,  ye  could  ha'  squeezed  me  like  a 
sponge." 

"  She'll  be  the  Fords'  cook  ?  "  questioned  Murdoch, 
smiling. 

"  Na,  she  's  the  maid.  Did  ye  never  hear  tell  o' 
a  leddy's  maid,  Murdoch?  I  'm  surprised  at  ye. 
Oh,  they  're  common  in  big  houses ;  they  just  wash  up 
after  the  leddy.  Man,  she  was  terrible  genteel,  and 
maist  extr'ornar  clean  —  aye,  fair  lifted  oot  o'  her 
station." 

"  Did  ye  kiss  her?  "  questioned  Hunter  with  in- 
terest. 

If    Toddie    had    been    asked    whether    he    had 
20 


TODDIE 

murdered  her,  he  could  not  have  looked  more  horri- 
fied. 

"  Aye,"  went  on  Hunter,  wagging  his  head,  "  I 
hear  there 's  a  bonnie  lassie  there.  The  butcher's 
man  telt  me.  Will  that  be  her,  think  ye?  " 

"  I  heard  aboot  the  lassie  too,"  corroborated  Mur- 
doch. "  It  was  Jock  Aitken  told  me.  He  said  after 
he  'd  swept  the  chimneys  he  aye  washed  his  face  at 
the  Fords' —  it  was  weel  worth  the  trouble." 

"  Some  likes  ye  to  kiss  them  quick,"  mused  Mc- 
Phee  in  tones  of  tender  reminiscence,  "  and  ithers 
prefers  ye  to  do  it  wi'  —  wi'  premeditations." 

"That's  a  powerful  word,"  ejaculated  Murdoch. 
"  Where  did  you  come  by  that,  McPhee  ?  " 

"  I  got  it  f rae  a  professor.  He  said  it  was  the 
way  he  played  golf,  so  I  kent  it  meant  somethin'  aw- 
ful slow." 

"  I  believe  ye,"  agreed  Hunter. 

"  There  was  a  cook  I  once  kep*  company  with," 
smiled  McPhee.  "  The  woman  would  ha'  deceived 
ony  man  —  withoot  he  was  weel  acquaint  wi'  the  queer 
contradictious  ways  o'  her  sex.  So,  if  Toddie  here 
didna  take  advantage  o'  the  leddy's  kindness  in 
givin'  him  a  chance,  he  's  mair  o'  a  fool  than  he 
looks." 

Toddie's  face  as  he  listened  to  these  remarks  was 
a  study.  It  expressed  the  utmost  incredulity  and 
disapproval.  Twice  he  was  on  the  point  of  interrupt- 

21 


TODDIE 

ing,  and  no  sooner  had  McPhee  made  an  end  of  speak- 
ing than  he  burst  forth. 

"Here!"  he  blurted.  "That's  no  way  to  talk! 
Have  ye  no  sense  o'  decency,  o' —  o'  respect  ?  Takin' 
away  an  honest  woman's  character;  aye,  behind  her 
back,  and  you  a  man.  Ye  ken  her  weel  enough. 
She  's  Skipper's  daughter.  Ma  word,  I  'd  like  fine 
to  see  you  take  any  liberties  wi'  her!  She'd  just 
start  to  sweep  the  floor  wi'  ye ;  aye,  and  I  believe  she 
could  dae  it  too,  she  's  that  big." 

"  Hello !  Hello !  "  ejaculated  Hunter.  "  What 's 
come  over  ye?  I  thought  ye  disliked  women." 

"  I  canna  bear  them,"  muttered  Toddie,  in  con- 
fusion. 

McPhee  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"Weel,"  he  said,  spitting  on  the  floor.  "Ye've 
a  verra  queer  way  o'  showin'  it.  Onybody  would 
think  ye  loved  them  all.  Man,  ye  've  a  lot  to  learn ! 
I  was  like  you,  Toddie,  when  I  was  a  laddie  — 
somethin'  peetyful.  Respec'  indeed!  Ye  make  me 
laugh.  Respec'  yer  grannie!  Aye,  aye,  respec'  is 
a  braw  word,  but  love  's  a  better.  Just  you  mind 
that  when  ye  come  to  be  walkin'  oot." 

Toddie's  indignant  repudiation  of  any  desire  or  in- 
tention to  walk  out,  or  walk  in,  or  walk  anywhere  in 
company  with  one  of  the  opposite  sex,  was  not  re- 
ceived with  the  gravity  it  merited.  His  auditors, 
with  the  exception  of  old  Tarn  and  Daft  Willy, 

22 


TODDIE 

judged  it  an  excellent  and  fitting  opportunity  for 
banter.  Their  jests,  if  somewhat  broad  and  heavy, 
were  at  all  events  free  from  ill-nature,  and  served  to 
beguile  the  tedium  of  the  bitter  winter's  day. 

"  What  makes  ye  sae  hard  on  the  women-folk, 
Toddie?"  inquired  Murdoch  curiously. 

"  D'  ye  no'  ken?  "  broke  in  Tarn,  speaking  eagerly. 
"  Toddie  had  a  mither." 

"  So  have  I,"  exclaimed  Daft  Willy  with  a  pleased 
smile. 

"  We  '11  no'  speak  aboot  her,  if  ye  please,"  said 
Toddie  to  Tarn. 

The  old  man  quailed  before  the  unusual  severity  in 
the  eyes  of  his  friend.  Murmuring  in  incoherent 
apology,  he  retired  into  the  grimy  recesses  of  his 
green  coat. 

"  Some  mithers  are  no'  precisely  suited  for  the 
job,"  mused  McPhee. 

"  Havers ! "  growled  Hunter  with  some  heat. 
"  That  kind  's  no'  common."  He  paused,  rumina- 
ting ;  then  with  laborious  reminiscence :  "  When  I 
think  o'  mine  it  puts  me  in  mind  o'  me  bein'  a  laddie 
at  the  schule,  and  her  —  and  her  coaxin'  me  to  say 
ma  bit  prayers." 

McPhee  and  Murdoch,  unfeignedly  amazed,  gazed 
at  the  besotted  face  of  the  speaker. 

"  Damn  rot ! "  muttered  Hunter  apologetically, 
and  avoiding  their  eyes. 


TODDIE 

"Aye,  aye.  Oh,  aye.  M-m,  M-m,"  commented 
McPhee. 

Daft  Willy  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  His 
eyes  betrayed  an  eagerness  and  intelligence  which 
they  had  before  lacked.  Several  times  he  moistened 
his  pendulous  lips  with  his  tongue,  then  remarked 
with  complacency: 

"  Ma  mither  's  a  good  woman." 

There  was  an  awkward  silence,  then  Murdoch  tit- 
tered and  was  secretly  kicked  by  Toddie,  for  the 
lady  in  question  was  notorious  for  her  lack  of  vir- 
tue. 

Accustomed  to  be  the  butt  of  the  more  unfeeling 
among  his  associates,  this  considerate  silence  encour- 
aged the  half-witted  lad.  His  smile  —  vacant  and 
meaningless  on  other  occasions,  a  mere  nervous  con- 
traction of  the  facial  muscles  —  became  unexpectedly 
luminous  and  even  tender,  the  sign  of  a  devotion  so 
deep-rooted  as  to  be  the  soil  from  which  sprung  the 
only  purifying  influence  in  his  down-trodden  life. 

"  Aye,"  he  said  softly.  "  She  hasna  her  like  in  all 
St.  Andrews.  I  whiles  peety  ither  chaps." 

Still  smiling,  he  relapsed  into  silence.  In  the  pause 
that  ensued  the  patter  of  the  rain  on  the  roof  was  de- 
pressingly  audible. 

"  When  a  laddie  hasna  had  a  kind  hame,"  quavered 
Tarn  all  at  once,  "  it  isna  to  be  wondered  at  if  he 
gets  like  Toddie  here ;  and  f orby  was  he  no'  brought 

24 


TODDIE 

up  by  Jock  Aitken  —  him  that  died  o'  jaundice  — 
and  ye  all  ken  what  sort  o'  a  wife  he  had." 

"  Tarn,"  said  Toddie  sternly. 

"Aye,  Toddie?" 

"  Did  I  give  ye  leave  to  talk  o'  ma  private  af- 
fairs?" 

"No,   Toddie." 

"  Weel,  shut  yer  mouth." 

Tarn  obeyed. 

McPhee  yawned  loudly,  then  muttered  an  oath. 

"  Anither  day  wasted,  just  look  at  it !  It 's  no'  like 
a  day  at  all.  Nae  wonder  they  've  got  the  gas 
lighted  in  the  club.  No  use  waitin'.  I  'm  off.  The 
sight  o'  all  this  water  makes  a  man  thirsty.  Are  ye 
comin',  lads?  " 

Hunter  and  Murdoch  accepted  his  invitation;  and 
the  three  men  squelched  away  over  the  saturated 
gravel.  Daft  Willy  slunk  off  by  himself.  Only 
Tarn  and  Toddie  were  left. 


CHAPTER  III 

'"1  II  THAT  are  ye  after  doin'?  "  questioned  Tarn. 
V  V     His  tone  betrayed  the  fact  that  he  recog- 
nized Toddie  for  a  born  leader,  and  would  cheerfully 
conform  to  anything  he  might  suggest. 

"  I  thought  I  might  ha'  got  a  sight  o'  him,"  mur- 
mured Toddie,  who  was  standing  at  the  window. 

"  Yer  Major?"  said  Tarn  indifferently. 

"  Aye." 

"  You  're  awful  fond  o'  him  ? 

"  Aye." 

Tarn  coughed.  The  hoarse,  rasping  sounds  filled 
the  dark  and  dreary  shelter.  The  spasm  shook  the 
bent  figure  as  though  with  rough  hands. 

"  It  beats  me,"  he  gasped. 

"  What  beats  ye  ?  "  questioned  Toddie,  turning. 

"  How  ony  sensible  caddie  can  care  for  a  club 
member." 

Toddie,  planted  firmly  on  his  sturdy  legs,  surveyed 
the  huddled  and  bent  figure  before  him  with  compas- 
sionate superiority. 

"  D'  ye  no'  feel  whiles  that  ye  just  have  to  care 
for  something  ?  "  he  asked. 
26 


TODDIE 

"  No,"  replied  Tarn  after  lengthy  thought. 
"  No." 

"  Weel,  I  does.  I  tell  ye,  Tarn,  I  couldna  gang 
through  the  day  withoot  it.  It  just  warms  me." 

Tarn  looked  up  with  interest. 

"  Warms  ye,  Toddie?     If  I  thought  that  I—" 

"  Hoots,  man,  I  was  speakin'  feeguratively. 
That 's  like  a  parable,  ye  ken.  Oh,  I  grant  ye  it 's 
no*  given  to  onybody  to  speak  like  that.  Ye  just 
say  the  wan  thing  and  mean  the  ither.  It 's  a  gift." 

"Aw!"  ejaculated  his  auditor. 

"  Aye,"  pursued  Toddie,  serious,  but  conscious  of 
being  delicately  flattered.  "  It  warms  me  to  care. 
I  canna  help  it.  If  ye  've  got  that  feelin'  in  yer 
heart  it  just  bubbles  oot.  It 's  a  grand  thing  I  've 
got  the  Major  and  Bob.  Ma  word!"  his  voice  rose 
with  sudden  and  unwonted  vehemence,  "  if  I  hadna 
found  them,  who  kens  but  I  might  start  carin'  for 
some  daft-like  thing  —  for  yerself,  maybe?" 

"Would  ye,  though?"  cried  Tarn  with  gratitude. 

"  I  didna  say  I  would.  I  said  I  might.  But  ye 
never  can  tell  the  way  it  takes  ye.  There  's  days 
T  'm  awful  near  tempted  to  care  for  the  sea  and  the 
sunshine,  but,  hoots,  that 's  weakness,  Tarn.  When 
that  silly  feelin'  comes  over  me  I  just  thinks  o'  the 
game  and  looks  hard  at  the  Major." 

"  Aye,  aye,"  murmured  his  companion,  essaying 
to  warm  his  benumbed  and  damp  fingers  by  feebly 

27 


TODDIE 

rubbing  them  together,  then  with  a  sigh :  "  I  wish  I 
was  mair  like  you,  Toddie.  I  've  not  cared  for  ony- 
body  this  lang  while  back." 

"  For  naebody,  Tarn?  " 

The  old  man  looked  up  at  him  with  dull  eyes,  then 
slowly  shook  his  head.  "  Na.  No'  that  way.  I 
care  for  you,  Toddie  —  but  —  it  doesna  make  me 
ony  warmer." 

"It's  no'  to  be  looked  for,  Tarn.  Na,  na,  that 
would  be  expectin'  too  much  o'  nature."  Then,  with 
a  kindly  but  critical  glance  at  his  friend's  shivering 
anatomy :  "  It  would  take  a  terrible  lot  o'  carin'  to 
warm  you." 

Tarn  pondered  over  the  situation.  His  thin,  hag- 
gard face,  on  which  the  white  bristles  stood  out  like 
frosted  stubble  above  a  dirty  soil,  betrayed  the 
difficulty  its  owner  experienced  in  analyzing  his  feel- 
ings. 

"  Ye  may  be  right,"  he  quavered  reluctantly. 
"  There  's  no'  denyin'  when  ye  're  no'  there  I  never 
thinks  aboot  ye.  I  thinks  aboot  maself." 

"  That 's  what  keeps  ye  cold,  Tarn." 

"Is  that  a  fact?  But — "  and  Tarn  gazed  anx- 
iously up  into  the  face  of  his  friend  — "  Ye  're  not 
speakin'  in  parables  again,  are  ye?  " 

Toddie  smiled. 

"  I  believe  I  was !  Ma  wordl  That 's  the  best  of 
a  habit,  Tarn.  It  bides  with  ye.  It 's  not  surprisin' 

28 


TODDIE 

ye  find  me  puzzlin'- —  whiles  I  'm  bothered  to  find  ma 
meanin'  maself." 

"  It 's  a  bad  habit,"  pronounced  Tarn,  speaking 
with  unusual  conviction. 

Toddie  caressed  his  chin.  "  Weel,  I  wouldna  go 
sae  far  as  to  say  that.  I  tell  ye  there  's  mony  a 
thing  the  Major  says  I  canna  put  a  meanin'  to  at  all. 
But,  hoots,  that  doesna  show  the  meanin'  is  no'  there. 
Na,  na,  I  've  obsairved,  Tarn,  the  cleverer  ye  are  the 
mair  ye  hide  yer  meanin'.  No'  that  ye  're  ashamed 
o'  it,  but  just  to  give  folk  the  pleasure  o'  findin'  it 
oot.  A  meanin'  is  like  a  lost  ball,  Tarn.  Ye  canna 
see  it,  but  it 's  there.  Aye,  and  some  folks  canna 
find  it,  while  ithers  just  walks  straight  to  the  place. 
Ye  take  me?" 

Tarn  opened  his  mouth  in  admiration. 

"  Losh !  What  a  man  ye  are,  Toddie !  What  a 
way  ye  have  o'  muddlin'  things  !  Ah !  " —  he  shook 
a  mournful  head  — "  I  fear  ye  're  clever." 

"  Ye  think  sae,  Tarn?  " 

"  I  do.  Ither  caddies  can  talk  and  I  just  under- 
stand every  word  they  're  sayin'.  But  you  —  ye 
take  a  thing  —  an  easy  thing,  mind  ye  —  and  twid- 
dle it  aboot,  and  call  it  a  golf  ball,  and  say  it 's  lost, 
and,  by  Jove,  it  is ! " 

Toddie  smiled  complacently. 

"  I  like  fine  to  hear  ye  haverin',"  continued  Tarn, 
nodding.  "  It  does  naebody  ony  harm.  Aye,  and 

29 


TODDIE 

it  takes  a  body's  thoughts  off  hisself .  It 's  a  grand 
thing  to  forget.  It 's  like  bein'  asleep,  and  maybe 
like  bein'  dead.  But  the  worst  o'  it  is,  when  ye 
stop,  a  body  kind  o'  wakes  up  and  minds  the  links  and 
the  rheumatics  and  the  cold  —  aye,  that 's  the  worst 
o'  it,  a  body  's  just  dragged  aboot  by  hisself." 

There  was  a  note  of  deep  and  unconscious  pathos 
in  the  statement.  Nor  was  it  rendered  less  poignant 
by  attendant  circumstances  —  the  gloom  of  the  win- 
ter's day  —  the  patter  of  the  rain  —  the  moaning 
of  the  sea,  and  the  pallid  face  and  shrunken  figure  of 
the  poor  old  derelict  seen  dimly  in  the  obscurity. 


30 


CHAPTER  IV 

DAVID  McCLURE,  then  alias  Toddie,  was  one 
of  a  type  of  caddie  fast  becoming  extinct 
even  on  the  classic  links  of  St.  Andrews.  Another 
and  a  younger  race  are  superseding  them,  a  race  less 
wedded  to  their  employer's  interests,  and  less  mind- 
ful, it  may  be  added,  of  the  true  and  sporting  spirit 
of  the  game. 

As  a  caddie,  Toddie  had  been  from  the  first  an  un- 
qualified success  —  even  as  a  player  he  had  acquitted 
himself  by  no  means  despicably.  It  was  not  for 
nothing  that  his  eye  for  flying,  or  even  for  stationary 
balls  was  unerring,  and  that  his  memory  for  lines 
was  little  short  of  miraculous.  This  proficiency 
stood  him  in  good  stead.  Many  a  time  when  on  some 
bitter  winter's  day  his  companions  were  beating  their 
blue  and  unemployed  hands  against  their  sides,  or 
tramping  to  and  fro  to  keep  up  their  circulation, 
casting  despairing  glances  the  while  at  the  almost 
deserted  club-house,  Toddie  —  as  blue  and  unem- 
ployed as  his  neighbors  —  would  hear  the  little  win- 
dow that  gave  light  to  the  caddie-master's  box  open 
abruptly. 

31 


TODDIE 

The  head  of  that  individual  would  pop  into  sight 
with  disconcerting  suddenness,  like  a  royal  and  an- 
cient jack-in-the-box  released  from  inaction  by  the 
sum  of  eighteenpence  —  his  eyes  ranging  over  his 
subordinates  with  the  controlling  and  fateful  glance 
of  a  generalissimo  surveying  his  forces.  There 
would  ensue  a  moment  of  anxious  suspense.  A  hush 
would  fall  upon  the  little  assembly.  Men  who  had 
been  walking  would  become  motionless  —  men  who 
had  been  talking  would  become  dumb.  Fifteen  pairs 
of  eyes  would  rivet  themselves,  pleadingly,  sullenly, 
or  resentfully  —  according  to  the  characters  of  their 
respective  owners  —  upon  the  head  framed  by  the 
tiny  window,  and  thirty  ears  would  listen  and  long  for 
the  sound  of  their  owners'  names. 

"  McClure,"  would  bellow  the  caddie-master,  and 
snap  would  go  the  closing  window.  A  babel  of 
voices  would  suddenly  arise. 

"  You  again,  Toddie,"  McPhee  or  Hunter  would 
exclaim  with  an  oath. 

"  It 's  Colonel  Hardy ;  he  aye  asks  for  you,  Tod- 
die,"  Tarn  would  sigh,  actuated  as  much  —  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  record  —  by  melancholy  pride  in  his  com- 
rade's popularity  as  by  any  sting  of  personal  disap- 
pointment; and  away  Toddie  would  stump,  golf 
bag  under  his  arm,  followed  by  many  an  envious 
glance. 

A  lonely  man,  Toddie  occupied  one  small  room  at 


TODDIE 

No.  7  Logie's  Lane.  This  he  referred  to  as 
"  Hame,"  and  viewed  it,  dark  and  cheerless  though  it 
was,  with  not  a  little  proprietary  complacency.  Its 
position  in  the  very  center  of  the  town  was  a  source 
of  much  pride  to  him.  He  considered  it  genteel,  al- 
most aristocratic.  The  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
town  church  cast  upon  his  humble  dwelling  a  shadow 
of  undeniable  respectability.  When  he  visited  other 
and  less  favored  mortals  —  Tarn,  for  instance,  who 
lived  in  a  rickety  tenement  hard  by  the  harbor  —  his 
breast  swelled  with  complacency,  which,  however,  he 
was  careful  to  conceal  when  sufficiently  sober  to  master 
his  emotions.  Nor  were  reasons  wanting  for  such 
satisfaction.  Tarn's  home  had  its  staircase  all  upon 
the  outside  —  now  you  could  inspect  the  exterior  of 
Logie's  Lane  for  a  week  and  discover  nothing  but 
that  you  were  wasting  your  time.  Then,  too,  Tarn's 
plebeian  dwelling  suffered  from  the  effects  of  a 
perennial  washing-day.  Call  when  you  pleased, 
your  eyes  were  sure  to  be  scandalized  by  the  sight 
of  the  most  private  of  garments  shamelessly  publish- 
ing to  the  world  the  sex  and  secrets  of  their  wearers, 
contorting  their  limbs  like  so  many  tight-rope 
dancers,  doubling  spasmodically  upon  themselves  as 
though  overcome  with  the  fantastic  humor  of  the 
situation,  and,  in  a  word,  behaving  without  the  least 
respect  for  the  proprieties.  This,  on  the  face  of  it, 
smacked  of  the  slums.  It  was  a  matter  of  self-con- 

3  aa 


TODDIE 

gratulation  to  Toddie  that  no  one  apparently  washed 
in  Logic's  Lane. 

There  existed  some  souls  of  the  baser  sort  who, 
actuated  doubtless  by  envy,  accused  Toddie  of  thrust- 
ing himself  among  his  betters,  aye,  of  actually  living 
next  door  to  a  greengrocer.  But  it  is  to  be  noted 
that  these  detractors  were  the  very  people  who  with  a 
smirk  of  ill-concealed  importance  would,  when  in  com- 
pany, refer  to  "  Oor  freend  in  Logic's  Lane." 

Toddie's  mistrust  of  women  was  an  instinct  of 
long  and  steady  growth.  It  began  with  his  earliest 
recollections  of  his  mother.  Upon  no  consideration 
would  he,  it  is  true,  permit  any  remark  derogatory 
to  her  to  be  uttered  in  his  hearing,  and  indeed  owed 
one  black  eye  which  had  rendered  him  disreputable 
for  a  week  to  his  ardent  championship  of  her  im- 
aginative virtues  —  but  "  the  evil  that  men  do  lives 
after  them,"  and  Jessie  McClure  was  branded  by  all 
who  remembered  her  with  the  epithets  of  shrew  and 
drunkard.  When  she  died,  and  Toddie  was  freed 
forever  from  her  alternate  fits  of  violence  and  neglect, 
what  wonder  that  he  transferred  his  apprehension 
and  dislike  to  the  entire  sex.  It  was  remarked  by 
the  women  of  the  neighborhood  that  for  long  after  he 
had  been  left  an  orphan  you  could  not  speak  to  him 
without  seeing  his  little  elbow  raised  in  instinctive 
defense  —  a  pitiable  sign  that  told  its  own  tale. 

Accustomed  from  infancy  to  look  upon  the  dark 
34 


TODDIE 

side  of  family  life,  Toddie  would,  as  a  child,  listen 
to  the  drunken  quarrels  of  married  folk  which  took 
place  as  sure  as  the  Saturday  night  came  round,  and 
so  listening  drew  therefrom  his  own  immature  con- 
clusions. 

"  Marriage  will  be  a  sair  misfortune,"  he  had  once 
confided  to  a  playmate  in  the  interval  of  top-spin- 
ning. "  I  canna  think  how  the  Lorrd  permits  it." 
And  in  his  fervent  prayers  —  for  like  many  another 
Scottish  lad  he  had  passed  through  a  phase  of  acute 
religion  —  he  had  been  wont  to  wrestle  with  his 
Maker,  beseeching  Him  to  hasten  the  blessed  time, 
when,  according  to  his  promise,  there  would  be 
neither  marriage  nor  giving  in  marriage. 

And  yet,  though  shunning  female  society,  Toddie 
occasionally  mustered  up  courage  to  speak  to  old 
women  and  little  girls.  The  former,  as  they  sat  in 
their  doorways  baiting  hooks,  or  were  encountered 
hobbling  painfully  over  the  cobble  stones,  awoke  some 
instinct  of  pity,  and  even  of  tenderness.  They  had 
so  few  pleasures.  He  forgot  their  sex  in  sorrow  for 
their  infirmities.  Age,  by  purging  them  of  all  at- 
tractiveness, had  robbed  them  of  all  danger.  There 
was  one  in  especial  with  whom  he  occasionally  en- 
joyed a  chat.  Something  peculiarly  reassuring  em- 
anated from  her  presence  —  she  was  so  like  a  man. 
He  would  meet  her  sometimes  far  out  among  the 
rocks,  at  low  tide,  gathering  shell-fish.  When  ac- 

35 


TODDIE 

costed,  she  would  straighten  herself  with  difficulty, 
and  brushing  aside  a  wisp  of  long  white  hair  that  in- 
variably impeded  her  vision,  would  look  at  him  with 
rheumy,  lack-luster  eyes  in  which,  however,  there 
might  be  discovered  a  faint  light  of  sociability. 

"  What  a  sight  o'  cockles ! "  he  had  once  said  to 
her,  pointing  to  her  distended  apron.  "  Ye  '11  never 
eat  these  all  yerself,  will  ye?  " 

"  Na,"  she  had  answered,  looking  at  the  shell-fish. 
"  There  's  a  man  in  Glasgow  takes  them  aff  me,"  she 
paused,  then :  "  They  're  awful  good  for  worrms," 
she  added  thoughtfully. 

"Worrms?" 

"  Aye,  better  nor  onything  ye  '11  get  oot  o'  a 
chemist's  shop  — "  she  paused  again,  eyed  him  with 
a  dawning  interest,  then  inquired,  "  Have  ye  ony 
bairns?  " 

With  a  muttered  negative  he  had  hastily  resumed 
his  walk.  It  was  fully  a  month  before  he  had  ven- 
tured to  speak  to  her  again. 

She  seemed  to  him  a  natural  part  of  the  scenery, 
like  the  brown  and  barren  sand,  did  this  little  old 
woman,  and  he  thought  about  neither  till  they  were 
immediately  under  his  eyes.  One  Sabbath  afternoon 
Toddie  was  gazing  at  the  sea,  half  mesmerized  by  its 
lights  and  movement,  when  he  heard  a  feminine  voice 
raised  unexpectedly  behind  him. 

"Oh,  it's  you,"  he  ejaculated  with  considerable 


TODDIE 

relief,  as,  turning,  he  recognized  his  nameless  ac- 
quaintance. 

"  Aye,  it 's  me.  I  kenned  yer  back.  How  are  ye 
keepin'?" 

"  Fine.     Ye  're  no'  gatherin'  cockles  the  day,  are 

"  Na.     I  gie  them  a  rest  on  the  Sabbath." 

"What  brings  ye  here?" 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  as  one  in  doubt, — 
then,  evidently  making  up  her  mind  to  trust  him, 
whispered  confidentially,  *'  I  picks  up  things,  bottles 
an'  boxes,  an'  firewood  —  See  here ! "  and  opening 
her  apron  she  treated  him  to  a  sight  of  its  contents. 
His  appreciative  comments  raised  her  spirits  won- 
derfully. 

Side  by  side  they  stood  and  watched  the  waves 
sweeping  landwards.  Toddie  had  almost  forgotten 
her  when  all  at  once  she  spoke  again.  "  The  queer 
things  it  brings  ye,"  she  murmured,  indicating  the 
sea  with  a  nod  of  her  draggled  bonnet.  "  I  mind 
once  it  brought  me  a  lot  o'  coal  —  good  coal  it  was, 
too.  And  anither  time  it  brought  me  a  fish,  aye,  a 
black  fish  as  long  as  yer  arm."  She  paused,  sighed 
thoughtfully,  then  added :  "  The  doctor  said  I 
shouldna  ha'  eaten  it." 

After  a  while,  turning  weary  eyes  on  him,  she  re- 
marked : 

"  You  're   a  lonely  man." 
37 


TODDIE 

Toddie  ventured  to  disagree.  But  she  persisted: 
"  Aye,  but  you  are.  The  ither  day  I  thought  I  seed 
ye  wi'  yer  arm  round  a  lassie's  waist  —  doon  the 
Lade  Braes,  it  was  —  Ma  certes !  I  was  that  pleased. 
But  when  ye  came  by  me  I  saw  it  was  n't  you  at  all, 
but  a  good-lookin'  chap." 

"Is  that  so?" 

"  Aye,  he  had  a  beard." 

"  We  canna  all  grow  beards  — "  began  Toddie, 
then  broke  off  in  some  confusion,  for  he  saw  that  she 
possessed  a  promising  little  beard  herself.  "  We 
canna  all  be  good-lookin',"  he  corrected  good-na- 
turedly. 

"  That 's  true,"  she  assented  with  earnestness,  lay- 
ing a  claw-like  hand  on  his  arm.  "  That 's  what  I 
used  to  tell  ma  Jock  when  he  called  me  a  broom- 
handle." 

"  Nae  doot  he  meant  it  kindly,"  soothed  Toddie, 
for  the  memory  seemed  to  rankle. 

"I  'm  no'  sae  sure,"  she  said  doubtfully.  "  That 
would  be  awful  unlike  Jock.  But,  hoots !  When  a 
man  's  dead  ye  just  have  to  try  and  make  the  best  o' 
him.  Aye,  broom-handle,  it  was.  I  never  could  see 
the  likeness.  Broom-handle?  I  wonder  —  Ah,  weel, 
I  've  lasted  him  oot  onyway.  But  you  —  nae  doot 
you  're  just  bidin'  yer  time." 

"For  what?" 

"  For  marryin'." 

38 


TODDIE 

His  scandalized  denial  failed  to  convince  her. 

"  Ah ! "  she  cried,  "  you  're  one  of  the  cautious 
ones.  I  see  that  fine.  Tak'  the  advice  o'  an  auld 
woman  that 's  seen  a  lot  o'  trouble,  never  to  be  led 
away  by  looks,  and  however  much  she  bothers  ye 
never  call  her  a  broom-handle." 

"  I  'm  no'  for  marryin'  at  all,"  cried  Toddie,  who 
had  been  vainly  endeavoring  to  assert  himself.  "  I 
canna  abide  women." 

She  looked  at  him  skeptically,  then  the  ghost  of  a 
smile  flitted  across  her  wrinkles. 

"  Hoots,  never  think  to  escape.  A  man  's  like  a 
cockle.  He  just  clings  to  his  shell,  but  there  comes 
a  braw  day  and  a  woman  howks  him  oot  at  last. 
I  '11  see  ye  courtin'  yet,  or  ma  name  's  no' — " 

He  left  her  so  abruptly  that  he  never  discovered 
her  name.  When  he  had  gone  some  little  distance  he 
cautiously  looked  back.  She  had  begun  to  poke 
about  in  the  sand  with  the  point  of  a  very  dilapidated 
umbrella. 

As  for  little  girls,  Toddie  felt  drawn  to  them  in- 
explicably. When  alone  he  pondered  over  this  in- 
stance of  the  heart's  depravity.  Why  did  he  not 
prefer  little  boys?  It  was  puzzling.  He  sought 
to  excuse  himself  in  his  own  eyes  by  the  reflection 
that  all  young  things,  even  pigs,  were  lovable  in  ex- 
treme youth. 

He  had  his  favorites  among  the  miniature  women 
39 


TODDIE 

who  played  in  the  seclusion  of  Logic's  Lane.  One 
frail  little  cripple  who,  aided  by  crutches,  sought  in 
vain  to  keep  pace  with  the  active  legs  of  her  robust 
companions,  was  the  recipient  of  many  a  shy  grimace, 
and  even  —  though  this  only  on  rare  occasions  and 
when  no  one  was  looking  —  of  pokes  of  sweeties. 
Her  claim  upon  his  affection  was  due  not  so  much 
to  her  infirmity,  as  to  the  fact  that  he  had  serious 
doubts  as  to  whether  she  would  ever  grow  up  to  be  a 
woman. 

Yes,  he  liked  children  well.  Their  shrill,  unmu- 
sical voices  echoing  from  the  gray  walls,  filling  the 
twilight  with  animation  and  peopling  the  fancy  with 
dreams  of  lives  yet  to  be  lived,  cheered  the  lonely  man 
on  his  way  to  his  solitary  home.  From  a  distance 
he  took  a  genuine  and  whole-hearted  interest  in  their 
games.  Even  when  the  worse  for  liquor  he  would 
take  the  most  elaborate  precautions  not  to  upset  the 
atom  the  least  secure  upon  its  legs;  sometimes  going 
the  length  of  leaving  the  infant  reveler  in  full  and 
undisputed  possession  of  the  pavement,  while  he  him- 
self tacked  carefully  past  in  the  road. 

At  times,  when  confronted  unexpectedly  by  some 
little  mite  crying  as  though  its  heart  would  break,  he 
would  stop,  bend  over  it,  an  expression  of  lively  com- 
miseration imprinted  upon  his  weather-beaten  counte- 
nance, and  there  would  ensue  the  following  collo- 
quy: 

40 


TODDIE 

"What's  like  wrang  wi'  ye,  wee  lassie?"  (If 
there  existed  the  least  doubt  as  to  sex,  Toddie  in- 
variably took  for  granted  that  it  was  a  lassie.) 

"  Boo-hoo ! " 

"  Hoots  !     Ye  're  no'  hurt,  are  ye?  " 

"  Boo-hoo ! " 

"  What  the  deevil !  Stop  greetin'.  Wipe  yer 
face.  Ye  're  no'  fit  to  look  after  yer  bit  self. 
What 's  yer  faither  thinkin'  aboot?  Why  is  he  no' 
mindin'  ye,  eh?  " 

The  novelty  of  this  surprising  idea  would  some- 
times have  the  desired  effect.  The  noise  would  cease, 
and  the  look  of  profound  astonishment  would  be 
fixed  on  this  singular  man  through  eyes  bright  with 
unshed  tears. 

"Ah,"  Toddie  would  chuckle.  "See  to  that. 
The  verra  mention  o'  her  faither  does  the  trick. 
Noo,"  he  would  shove  a  penny  in  the  tiny  hand,  "  run 
awa'  hame  to  him ;  nae  doot  he  's  just  wearyin'  for  a 
sight  o'  ye." 


CHAPTER  V 

BUT  it  was  not  till  five  years  before  the  opening 
of  our  story  that  the  color  of  real  personal 
feeling  came  to  warm  Toddie's  lonely  existence. 
That  wonderful  year  brought  the  Major  and  Bob. 
Looking  back  upon  his  life  before  he  had  met  either 
of  these  blessings  Toddie  marveled  how  he  could  have 
lived  at  all. 

To  take  the  Major  first. 

He  had  appeared  one  winter  when  business  on  the 
links  was  unusually  slack. 

"Are  you  engaged?"  he  said  to  Toddie,  singling 
out  the  little  caddie  by  chance  from  his  associates. 

"No,  sir." 

"  Well,  take  my  clubs." 

Toddie  obeyed. 

"Who's  this  I've  got?"  Toddie  whispered 
hoarsely  to  McPhee  as  they  followed  their  employers 
to  the  first  tee. 

"I'm  told  his  name's  Dale,  Major  Dale,  retired 
from  India.  What  a  sight  o'  clubs!" 

"  Aye,  but  can  he  play?  " 
42 


TODDIE 

The  moment  the  Major  gripped  the  shaft  of  his 
driver  all  doubts  were  dissipated. 

"He'll  do  fine,"  Toddie  ejaculated,  his  honest 
face  aglow.  "  See  that !  A  bonnie  swing.  Just 
watch  that !  Ma  word,  there  's  power  for  ye ! " 

The  first  hole  fell  to  Dale  in  a  perfect  three. 

Toddie  had  difficulty  in  suppressing  a  chuckle. 

"  Ye  've  played  before,  Major,"  he  observed,  as 
side  by  side  they  followed  the  second  faultless  drive. 

"  Once  or  twice,"  assented  the  Major  laconically, 
at  which  Toddie  forgot  himself  so  far  as  to  wink. 

The  satisfaction  was  apparently  mutual,  for  at 
the  end  of  the  afternoon  round  the  Ma j  or  said :  — 

"  Here  's  your  money.  Are  you  engaged  to-mor- 
row ?  No  ?  Well  I  '11  take  you  by  the  month.  Are 
you  agreeable  ?  " 

By  the  month!  No  more  uncertainty  —  no  more 
following  free  trippers  —  no  more  struggling  to 
make  ends  meet !  A  pound  a  week !  Toddie  had 
never  felt  more  agreeable  in  his  life.  It  was  the  real- 
ization of  his  rosiest  dream.  At  least  an  inch  higher 
that  afternoon,  he  whistled  himself  all  the  way  back 
to  Logic's  Lane. 

Neither  party  had  cause  to  regret  the  bargain. 
The  years  that  followed  but  cemented  the  satisfac- 
tion, until  there  grew  up  between  them  a  feeling 
which,  if  it  were  not  friendship,  was  at  all  events  as 
deep  and  abiding.  And,  as  in  love  there  must  be 


TODDIE 

always  one  who  kisses  and  one  who  offers  the  cheek, 
so  also  in  comradeship  it  is  inevitable  that  one  shall 
be  first  in  staunchness,  first  in  unselfish  devotion. 
Toddie  led,  an  easy  first.  It  was  a  case  of  ardent 
hero-worship  from  the  start.  He  admired  the  Ma- 
jor tremendously  —  admired  his  size,  his  strength, 
his  quiet  manner  —  that  yet  gave  the  observer  an 
impression  of  power  —  his  golf,  his  learning,  his  halo 
of  reputed  military  glory,  his  indifferent  perform- 
ance on  the  flute.  He  even  had  an  awestruck  ad- 
miration for  his  employer's  occasional  severity.  But 
his  crowning  admiration  was  reserved  for  the  fact 
that  the  Major,  despite  fearful  temptations,  was 
still  a  bachelor. 

Naturally,  as  time  went  on,  each  had  to  make 
allowances.  Dale,  for  example,  had  to  overlook  occa- 
sional lapses  into  liquor;  but  as  no  amount  of  drink 
appeared  to  affect  Toddie's  sight  or  judgment,  it  was 
not  such  a  serious  defect  in  a  caddie  as  might  be 
supposed. 

Toddie,  on  his  part,  had  to  excuse  a  testiness  that 
showed  itself  only  at  golf,  an  impatience  of  involun- 
tary movement,  a  sudden  glare  of  an  offended  eye. 
Once  the  Major  had  said:  "Toddie,  you  lost  me 
that  hole."  And  Toddie,  falsely  accused,  had  lain 
awake  thinking  of  it  for  a  week. 

And  now  for  Bob. 

Bob  had  come  into  Toddie's  life  one  dark  rainy 
44 


TODDIE 

night  when  that  individual  had  been  lurching  home- 
ward, not  —  be  it  with  sorrow  recorded  —  without 
involuntary  deviations  and  unconsidered  halts  to  as- 
certain his  whereabouts.  "What's  this?"  Tod- 
die  had  ejaculated  as  he  all  but  fell  over  the  wriggling 
impediment.  "  Shoo  !  ye  beastie  !  "  But  Bob  would 
not  be  shooed.  Tacking  after  his  chance  acquaint- 
ance across  the  reaches  of  Grey  Friars'  Gardens,  fol- 
lowing him  like  a  shadow,  as  he  steered  an  uncertain 
course  between  the  lamp-posts  of  Market  Street,  Bob 
succeeded  in  slipping  into  No.  7  Logic's  Lane  un- 
perceived. 

That  night  Toddie  slept  in  his  boots.  But  the 
first  thing  that  met  his  sober  and  astonished  gaze 
upon  the  following  morning  was  Bob  seated  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  wagging  a  nervous  tail,  but  ready 
to  be  happy  and  confidential  if  cause  were  shown. 

From  that  moment  they  were  even  as  David  and 
Jonathan. 

Were  it  not  for  golf  Bob  would  have  been  su- 
premely happy.  "  Ye  see  I  canna  take  ye,"  Toddie 
had  explained  earnestly,  the  shaggy  head  between 
his  knees.  "  It 's  as  much  as  ma  place  is  worth. 
D'  ye  see  that,  Bob  ?  Ye  wouldna  ruin  me  a'  the- 
gither,  would  ye  now?  " 

And  Bob  had  listened  with  his  almost  human  eyes 
fixed  on  his  master,  concerned  but  puzzled,  ready 
for  anything,  save  indeed  to  be  left  at  home. 

45 


TODDIE 

Bob  was  a  mystery.  His  birthplace,  his  age,  his 
former  master,  his  breed,  all  were  secrets.  No  one 
knew  aught  about  him,  no  more  than  if  he  had 
dropped  from  the  clouds. 

Toddie,  excited  as  a  boy,  had  to  repeat  the  story 
of  his  discovery  many  times.  It  was :  "  Ye  see, 
it  was  like  this,  me  here,  and  him  there;  me  rubbin' 
ma  eyes,  an'  him  waggin'  his  bit  tail  — "  etc.,  etc. 

"Found  him  in  yer  bed!"  ejaculated  Herd,  the 
greengrocer's  assistant;  then  added,  not  without 
envy :  — "  Man,  ye  must  ha'  been  drunk !  " 

"  He  '11  not  be  a  retriever,  will  he  ?  "  suggested 
Haxton,  the  butcher's  man,  doubtfully.  "  He 's 
mair  like  an  Aberdeen  terrier,  yet  I  confess  his  tail 
bothers  me." 

Even  McPhee,  who  set  up  for  being  a  dog-fancier, 
scratched  his  head. 

"  If  ye  look  at  the  one-half  of  him  ye  would  say 
a  collie,"  he  pronounced  oracularly,  "  and  if  ye  look 
at  the  ither  —  weel,  ye 're  just  flabbergasted." 

The  three  visitors  went  away  wagging  doubtful 
heads,  while  Bob,  knowing  well  that  he  had  been  dis- 
paragingly criticized,  feigned  profound  interest  in 
a  flea. 

"  Send  him  to  the  police  office,"  advised  Haxton 
from  the  door. 

"  Deed  I  will  not ! "  cried  Toddie  indignantly. 
"  Did  he  no'  come  to  me  trustin'-like  ?  Aye,  chose 

46 


TODDIE 

me  oot,  ye  may  say,  from  all  the  folk  in  St.  An- 
drews? Na,  na,  Bob  bides  here." 

But  Toddie  was  not  kept  long  in  the  dark  as  far 
as  Bob's  profession  was  concerned,  for  even  while 
they  sat  at  breakfast  upon  the  second  morning,  the 
sound  of  distant  bleating  floated  in  at  the  open  door. 
In  a  flash  Bob  was  transformed  from  a  patient  em- 
bodiment of  hunger,  to  a  breathless  interrogation. 
A  moment  he  stood  trembling,  his  whole  heart  visibly 
in  his  ears,  then  bolted. 

On  reaching  Market  Street  his  master  saw  him 
wheeling,  charging,  circling,  and  explaining  to  .a 
flock  of  bewildered  sheep  exactly  what  he  wished 
them  to  do. 

"  Guid  sakes !  "  gasped  Toddie,  suddenly  enlight- 
ened. "  He  's  a  collie ! " 

What  was  a  caddie  to  do  with  a  collie?  There 
was  but  one  solution.  Bob  must  change  his  ways. 
In  pursuance  of  this  plan  he  was  lectured,  argued 
with,  entreated.  To  do  him  justice  he  listened  with 
great  good  nature,  but  the  moment  he  met  a  sheep, 
away  he  went  again  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow.  He 
simply  could  not  help  it.  He  could  no  more  refrain 
from  unnecessary  advice  than  can  a  relation. 

One  consolation,  that  Toddie  hugged  to  his  breast, 
was  that  the  dog  appeared  actuated  only  by  mo- 
tives of  kindness.  Had  any  doubt  existed  on  this 
point  it  would  have  been  dispelled  by  his  conduct  one 

47 


TODDIE 

Sunday  morning.  The  two  friends  had  gone  out  for 
a  walk  when,  suddenly,  with  a  yelp  of  excitement, 
Bob  cleared  a  wall. 

Hastily  pursuing,  Toddie  found  —  what? 

Bob  posing  as  an  unwelcome  instructor?  No. 
But  Bob  stretched  on  the  grass  beside  a  newly-born 
lamb,  licking  the  little  creature's  face  with  every 
sign  of  tenderness  and  affection. 


48 


CHAPTER  VI 

TODDIE  was  on  his  way  to  the  links.     The  fine- 
ness   of   the    morning,   however,   tempted   him 
to  pause  where  Murray  Park  debouched  on  to  the 
Scores. 

"  Man ! "  he  soliloquized,  shading  his  eyes  with  a 
horny  fist,  "  but  the  sea  's  real  bonnie  the  day.  An' 
bright,  it  just  bothers  ye  to  look  at  it."  Then, 
catching  sight  of  the  brown  sail  of  a  fishing  boat  dark 
against  the  light  — "  Yon  will  be  the  Children's 
Friend.  Jock  and  Sandy  have  been  oot  all  night. 
A  fine  life ;  a  fine  stirrin'  life.  Aweel,  aweel,  we 
canna  all  serve  the  Lorrd  on  the  water.  An'  nae 
doot  if  His  Will  was  known,  He  wouldna  wish  the 
links  to  be  neglected." 

Lost  in  vague  yet  pleasurable  contemplation,  he 
did  not  hear  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps 
until  a  thick-set  man  closely  followed  by  a  terrier 
was  upon  him. 

"  Mornin',  Toddie,"  said  the  newcomer  briskly. 

"  Mornin',"  growled  Toddie,  eying  him  with  open 
distaste. 

4  49 


TODDIE 

"How's  yerself ?  "  inquired  the  stranger  with  af- 
fectionate solicitude. 

"Fine." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  hear  it.  It  was  only  the  ither  day 
that  Auchtermuchtie  says  to  me :  — '  Herd,'  says  he, 
'  Toddie  's  gettin'  auld ;  he  's  that  white  aboot  the 
gills.'  '  Havers ! '  says  I,  takin'  your  part,  '  That 's 
not  age,  that 's  drink ;  when  I  canna  afford  one 
maself  his  breath  is  sort  o'  consolation  to  me.' ' 

"  I  '11  trouble  you  to  leave  me  oot  o'  yer  talk." 

"  Hoots,  man,  no  trouble  at  all,  we  had  nothin' 
worse  to  talk  aboot.  Kirkentilloch  —  he's  just 
buried  his  Jean,  his  third  she  was  —  Weel,  says  he 
to  me :  —  *  Toddie  needs  chastenin',  he  ought  to 
marry.'  Man,  ye  needna  glower  at  me,  I  didna  say 
it.  But  he 's  a  lad  o'  experience  is  Kirkentilloch, 
says  he :  — c  Herd,  ye  never  find  real  blessed  peace 
till  ye  lend  all  yer  dear  ones  to  the  Lorrd.'  But  I 
up  and  told  him  there  was  no  fear  o'  you  lendin' 
onything  to  onybody  if  ye  could  help  it;  and 
forby,  that  women  just  frightened  ye  oot  o*  yer 
life." 

Toddie  opened  his  mouth  angrily,  then,  thinking 
better  of  it,  closed  it  with  a  snap.  Herd  possessed 
the  unpleasant  accomplishment  of  rubbing  him  up 
the  wrong  way;  yet  so  plausible  were  most  of  his 
enemy's  remarks  that  for  the  life  of  him  Toddie 
could  never  think  of  an  appropriate  retort. 

50 


TODDIE 

"  She  found  six  Colonels,  and  five  Dunlops,  and 
two  Zodiacs  no  later  than  yesterday,"  announced 
Herd  suddenly,  jerking  his  thumb  with  admiration 
at  the  terrier.  "  She  gets  cleverer  an'  cleverer  every 
day.  She  's  just  got  a  passion  for  lost  balls.  Where 
think  ye  she  found  one  last  week?  In  Tom  Brown's 
shop." 

He  laughed  with  immense  appreciation,  but  Tod- 
die  preserved  a  stony  silence. 

"  It 's  a  grand,  independent  life,"  Herd  hitched 
himself  as  he  spoke  on  to  the  sunlit  wall.  "  Nothin* 
to  do  but  walk  aboot.  Ma  brains  an'  Nell's  legs; 
a  sort  o'  partnership  ye  would  say.  Lucrative,  too. 
I  made  five  shillings  yesterday.  I  never  know  what 
it  is  to  want  now,  the  Lorrd  be  thankit  1 " 

He  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  a  dirty  hand, 
and  gazed  at  the  sea. 

Toddie  produced  an  old  and  much  abbreviated 
pipe. 

"  Ye  never  carry  now  ?  "  he  inquired  of  Herd,  be- 
tween puffs. 

"Me?  No'  likely!  I'm  ma  own  master;  go  oot 
when  I  like;  come  home  when  I  like;  eat  when  I 
like,  an'  drink  when  I  like."  He  paused,  then,  still 
gazing  at  the  sea — "Drink  when  I  like,"  he  re- 
peated softly. 

Toddie  suppressed  a  strong  desire  to  tip  him  over 
the  wall. 

51 


TODDIE 

"  How  's  Bob  ?  "  questioned  the  unconscious  Herd 
with  patronage. 

"  Fine,"  grunted  Toddie. 

"  Dod !  I  'm  glad  to  hear  it.  It 's  no*  natural 
for  a  dog  to  be  gnawin'  the  legs  off  a  kitchen  table 
six  days  oot  o'  the  seven.  I  hope  ye  give  the  poor 
beastie  a  run  on  the  Sabbath  ?  " 

Toddie  disdained  to  answer. 

"  He  canna  help  bein'  stupid,"  said  Herd  leniently. 
"  He 's  not  like  Nell  here.  Look  there  —  see  her 
now !  By  gosh !  if  she  's  no'  huntin'  for  lost  balls 
in  yon  drain.  Man,  she  's  a  treat !  But,  as  I  was 
minded  to  say,  Bob  's  verra  bark  makes  ye  despair 
o'  him;  just  a  daft,  senseless  noise.  But  we  canna 
expect  sense  in  a  mongrel." 

"  Mongrel  yerself ." 

"  Man,  ye  're  testy !  All  pride,  so  it  is.  Get  rid 
o'  it,  Toddie.  A  humble  heart  is  what  you  need. 
Did  ye  hear  the  sermon  the  ither  Sabbath?  No? 
Weel,  ye  missed  somethin'  rare,  for  the  Meenister 
was  uplifted.  He  taught  us  what  to  do  wi'  oor  tal- 
ents. Thinks  I  —  I  had  two  bran  new  balls  in  ma 
pocket  Nell  had  hunted  oot  of  Colonel  Hardie's  bag 
—  you  may  say  what  ye  like  aboot  dumb  beasties, 
but  ma  dog  sets  us  all  an  example,  for  she  makes 
mair  use  of  her  one  talent  than  does  mony  a  Chris- 
tian." 

Accustomed  though  he  was  to  parables  this  un- 
52 


TODDIE 

expected  rendering  of  the  Scriptures  took  Toddie 
aback.  Truth  to  tell,  he  resented  this  embroidery 
as  an  unwarrantable  encroachment  upon  his  own 
rights. 

"  See  here  now,"  Herd  laid  a  hand  on  Toddie's 
arm,  "  I  '11  tell  ye  what  I  '11  do.  I  '11  help  ye  teach 
him." 

"  When  I  want  yer  help  I  '11  come  for  it,"  blurted 
Toddie,  shaking  him  off.  "  Bob  's  no'  the  dog  to 
sneak  aboot  pickin'  up  things  that  dinna  belong 
to  him.  And  more  —  the  deil  can  quote  Screepture 
to  his  purpose.  Guid  day,  to  ye." 

As  he  stumped  away  he  heard  steps  following 
him. 

"  Who 's  Ford  ? "  questioned  the  irrepressible 
Herd,  keeping  pace.  But  Toddie  professed  not  only 
ignorance,  but  indifference. 

"  Weel,  that 's  queer,  seein'  you  're  playin'  with 
him  the  day." 

"Eh?"     Toddie   stopped  short. 

"  Aye,  Dale  and  Ford.  Ten  minutes  to  ten,  I 
seed  it  on  the  startin'  board  maself.  Will  Ford  be 
a  club  member,  think  ye  ?  " 

Toddie  scratched  his  head.  "  There  's  auld  Mr. 
Ford,"  he  mused,  forgetful  of  his  annoyance.  "  But 
he  's  near  eighty." 

"  Maybe  it 's  his  daughter  —  Charity  they  call 
her." 

53 


TODDIE 

Toddie  laughed  the  suggestion  to  scorn.  Herd, 
however,  wagged  his  head. 

"  Ye  never  can  tell,"  he  said  darkly.  "  Women 
are  aye  where  they  're  least  wanted.  The  lassie  tries 
to  play,  I  've  seen  her  at  it  maself .  Maybe  you  and 
yer  Major  will  be  for  giving  her  a  lesson.  I  wish 
I  could  stop  an'  hear  ye." 

Laughing  offensively,  he  lurched  away. 

Reaching  the  club-house,  Toddie  verified  Herd's 
statement.  Extremely  puzzled,  he  consulted  several 
of  his  associates,  eliciting,  however,  nothing  more 
satisfactory  than  that,  as  it  could  not  be  old  Mr. 
Ford,  it  must  be  his  daughter.  It  was  early  in  the 
day  to  quarrel,  yet  Toddie  was  never  nearer  it.  For 
a  mere  nothing  he  would  have  fought  them  all.  The 
suggestion  that  his  Major — "a  scratch  player, 
mind  ye," —  would  allow  himself  to  be  seen  in  the 
same  match  with  a  woman,  rankled  deeply. 

"Is  it  likely?"  he  snorted  with  immense  scorn, 
when  McPhee  tried  to  reason  with  him. 

"  It 's  human  natur',"  mused  McPhee  with  melan- 
choly philosophy.  "  Ye  may  think  to  wriggle  oot 
of  it,  but  Natur'  grips  ye  at  the  last.  A  woman 
turns  yer  head.  She  makes  ye  dizzy.  I  know  what 
I  'm  talkin'  aboot,  for  I  mind  the  last  time  but  three 
—  when  I  was  walkin'  oot — " 

But  here  Toddie  flung  himself  off. 
54 


TODDIE 

Taking  up  his  stand  beneath  the  big  window  of 
the  smoking-room  —  a  favorite  position  which,  from 
its  isolation,  he  imagined  to  impart  dignity  to  one 
engaged  by  the  month  —  fears,  irritations,  suspi- 
cions all  fell  from  him.  Faith  in  the  Major  again 
burned  high.  Ford  would  no  doubt  turn  out  to  be  a 
visitor,  a  fine  player.  Toddie  and  his  master  would 
have  the  satisfaction  of  relieving  him  of  half-a- 
crown  at  the  last  hole.  Lovingly  polishing  a  mashie 
with  a  wisp  of  sand-paper,  he  awaited  the  starting 
hour. 

The  weather  contributed  insensibly  to  his  regained 
composure.  The  links  were  deluged  with  sun,  the 
frosty,  clear-eyed  sunlight  of  northern  winters  that 
tingles  in  the  quickened  blood  like  some  rare  vintage. 
The  far  hills  quivered  through  silver  haze.  A  flock 
of  sea-gulls  at  breakfast  on  a  patch  of  reclaimed 
land,  made  a  cheerful  clamor;  at  times  whirling  up- 
ward like  a  handful  of  snowflakes  tossed  into  the 
blue,  and  again  settling  in  a  flutter  of  varied  and 
infinite  grace.  The  world  seemed  a  good  place, 
made  on  purpose  for  masculine  golf,  full  of  sights 
and  sounds  reminiscent  of  old  associations,  reassur- 
ing, intimate. 

"  Ours  will  be  the  next  number,"  murmured  Toddie 
complacently,  as  Braid's  stentorian  voice  roared  out 
the  players'  names.  With  that  he  cast  a  glance  to- 

55 


TODDIE 

wards  the  club  window  which  generally  framed  the 
imposing  figure  of  the  Major,  but  that  hero  was  no- 
where to  be  seen. 

Still  lost  in  speculation,  Toddie  gazed  vacantly, 
when  Tarn  Macintyre,  who  had  stolen  upon  him  un- 
perceived,  remarked :  — 

"  Look  the  ither  way.  Yon  's  him  comin'  across 
the  links." 

Toddie  obeyed  quickly ;  as  he  did  so  his  heart 
sank,  for  beside  his  master's  soldierly  form,  a  golf- 
bag  depending  from  her  shoulder,  walked  a  woman. 


56 


CHAPTER  VII 

NO  sound  fell  upon  the  listening  ear  save  the 
raving  of  the  wind,  a  noise  strangely  dis- 
quieting to  the  imagination,  suggestive  of  something 
that  sobbed  and  moaned  and  wailed  —  of  something 
that  pleaded  to  be  left  alone  yet  was  hounded  piti- 
lessly forward  into  the  blackness  of  the  winter's 
night.  Even  within  the  kitchen,  where  the  solitary 
woman  sat  waiting,  something  of  the  same  inde- 
scribable sensation  of  eerieness  and  abandonment 
made  itself  felt. 

Devina  had  turned  down  the  gas  from  motives  of 
economy,  but  the  red  glow  of  firelight  played  upon 
her.  It  tipped  her  hair,  strayed  like  a  blush  over 
her  strong  dark  features,  reflected  itself  in  the  somber 
light  of  her  eyes,  and  accentuated  the  shapely  lines 
of  her  figure.  Not  that  she  was  conscious  of  it, 
for  she  had  forgotten  her  surroundings,  forgotten 
even  the  reason  of  her  lonely  vigil.  In  the  dusk  and 
the  silence  a  familiar  voice  was  whispering  to  her 
—  the  voice  of  the  past. 

How  long  she  sat  she  knew  not,  but  she  was 
roused  from  retrospection  by  the  solemn  striking  of 

57 


TODDIE 

the  clock.  Sitting  erect,  she  counted  — "  One,  two, 
three."  Three  o'clock!  The  night  was  far  spent. 

"  She  '11  be  comin'  home  soon  now,"  she  muttered 
to  herself,  then  listened  intently,  but  nothing  was 
audible  save  the  mournful  violence  of  the  gale. 

Mechanically,  moved  thereto  by  the  lateness  of 
the  hour  and  still  bemused  with  dreams,  she  raised 
her  arms  and  slowly  pulled  out  her  hair-pins. 
Freed  from  their  support,  the  dark  and  luxuriant 
masses  fell  in  confusion  about  her  shoulders.  Her 
hair  was  Devina's  chief  glory.  It  reached  to  her 
knees.  Though  dark,  it  had  yet  the  peculiar  quality 
of  attracting  the  light.  To  see  it  smoldering  in  the 
sunshine  was  purely  sensuous  joy.  When  plaited  it 
made  a  rope  almost  as  thick  as  her  arm.  Devina 
herself  contemplated  its  beauty  with  mingled  feel- 
ings of  half-bashful  gratification  and  openly-ex- 
pressed indifference.  At  times  she  was  even  haunted 
by  the  misgiving  that  its  uncanny  superfluity  was 
an  earnest  of  the  divine  determination  to  test  her 
—  a  temptation  to  vainglory  which,  unless  she  re- 
sisted with  steadfast  humility  as  became  a  member 
of  the  U.  P.  Kirk,  would  inevitably  drag  her  down 
to  the  horrors  of  the  pit. 

With  listless  fingers,  hardly  aware  of  what  she 
did,  she  began  to  disentangle  the  massive  and  shining 
coils.  Then,  acting  under  the  influence  of  some 
semi-conscious  instinct,  she  rose,  turned  up  the  gas, 

58 


TODDIE 

and  stood  before  a  small  mirror  suspended  on  the 
wall. 

For  a  moment  or  two  she  silently  contemplated 
her  image,  contemplated  it  with  a  stern  and  critical 
impartiality  that  yet  had  in  it  something  of  the 
pathetic  wistfulness  inherent  in  her  nature.  But  as 
she  gazed,  a  swift  frown  darkened  her  face. 

"  What 's  the  use  o'  it,"  she  muttered  with  bitter- 
ness. "  Much  good  it 's  done  ye."  Then  abruptly, 
and  in  sudden  panic :  "  What 's  this  ?  Undressin'  in 
the  kitchen!  What  would  the  mistress  say?  Think 
shame  o'  yersel'  for  a  daft  auld  wife ! " 

All  at  once,  clearly  distinct  in  the  silence  of  the 
night,  came  the  rumble  of  distant  wheels.  In  less 
time  than  it  takes  to  record  it,  Devina  was  at  the 
front  door,  peering  into  the  gusty  darkness. 

"  Ye  're  late,"  she  said  as  a  muffled  figure  came 
quickly  towards  her.  Despite  the  ungracious  words 
even  a  stranger  would  have  distinguished  the  note 
of  real  solicitude. 

"Why  did  you  sit  up?"  came  a  fresh  young 
voice.  "  I  never  meant  you  to  do  that.  I  have  the 
key." 

"Hoots!  Can  a  key  unfasten  ye  behind?  A 
godless  hour  o'  night  this  to  be  gallivantin'.  Come 
away  to  yer  bed." 

As  they  entered  the  bedroom,  Charity  cried  out :  — 

"  A  fire  ?  That  is  nice  of  you.  And  soup  ?  De- 
59 


TODDIE 

vina,  you  spoil  me.     Why  — "     She  broke  off  and 
gazed  up  at  her  attendant  in  wonderment. 

Devina  betrayed  instant  confusion.  Her  hands 
sought  her  head. 

"  I  *m  sorry,"  she  apologized  gruffly.  "  I  wasna 
thinkin'  what  I  was  doin'." 

"  It 's  not  that,  but  — "  She  touched  a  long  and 
dusky  tress.  "  I  've  never  seen  your  hair  down  be- 
fore. It 's  ever  so  much  thicker  than  mine.  De- 
vina— "  She  looked  up  with  smiling  admiration 
into  the  self-conscious  face  — "  Devina,  you  're  hand- 
some." 

"  Havers ! "  cried  Devina,  visibly  flattered,  but 
protesting. 

"  But  you  are.  Very  handsome.  Every  one  must 
think  so.  I  wonder  why  — " 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence;  and  Devina,  ap- 
parently unaware  of  the  omission,  began  to  relieve 
her  of  her  cloak. 

It  was  a  pretty  picture  that  was  given  to  the  gas- 
light. But,  charming  as  was  the  costume,  it  was  the 
face  that  attracted,  for  its  dominant  characteristic 
was  a  peculiarly  endearing  and  sunny  charm. 

And  it  was  evident  that  Devina  too  was  of  this 
opinion,  for  as  she  stepped  back,  the  cloak  still  in 
her  hands,  her  eyes  reflected  nothing  but  a  loving 
and  whole-hearted  admiration. 

Suddenly  aware  of  inspection,  Charity  smiled. 
60 


"Do  you  like  it?"  she  asked.  "Do  I  look 
nice?" 

Devina  sniffed,  and  feigned  immediate  interest 
in  the  cloak. 

"  It 's  a  Godly  heart  I  'm  lookin'  to  see  in  you, 
Miss  Charity,  and  not  merely  a  hankerin'  after 
earthly  braws.  In  the  midst  o'  life  we  are  in  death. 
Here,  stand  still  till  I  undo  ye." 

"  The  lace  is  beautiful,  is  n't  it? "  commented 
Charity,  touching  it  lightly. 

"  It 's  weel  enough." 

"  Well  enough  1  Why,  it 's  the  making  of  it.  Of 
course  there  were  several  prettier  dresses.  Lily  Lo- 
gan's now  — " 

"  Her.  Set  her  up !  A  gawky,  red-headed 
washin'  pole,  so  she  is.  With  a  neck  on  her  like  a 
scarecraw.  She  couldna  hold  a  candle  to  you,  dress 
or  no  dress.  Umph,  were  there  ony  ithers  ?  " 

It  is  pleasant  to  record  how  unexpectedly  gentle 
was  the  touch  of  this  serving  woman's  hands,  hard 
and  work-worn  though  they  were,  and  with  what 
obvious  and  proprietary  pride  she  waited  upon  her 
mistress.  Nor  is  it  less  pleasant  to  tell  of  the  affection 
and  childlike  dependence — as  though  the  elder  woman 
were  a  sister  rather  than  a  servant  —  with  which 
Charity  accepted  her  services. 

"  Did  you  help  the  Master  to  bed?  "  asked  the 
latter,  seated  before  the  fire  and  sipping  soup. 

61 


TODDIE 

"  Of  course." 

"  Poor  Daddy,  he  's  getting  very  old,  Devina ; 
and  very  feeble ;  I  hope  he  did  n't  miss  me  much." 

"  Hoots,  he  never  missed  ye  at  all !  Says  he, 
'I'm  glad  she's  en  joy  in'  herself.'  'It's  good  for 
her  young  legs,'  says  I.  Then  when  I  'd  given  him 
his  pipe,  says  he :  — '  You  and  I  get  on  fine,  De- 
vina.' '  Onybody  would  get  on  wi'  you,'  says  I, 
*  for  ye  're  no'  like  a  man  at  all.' ' 

"  And  what  did  he  say  to  that  compliment?  " 

"  Compliment?  I  never  pay  compliments.  It 
was  the  truth.  For  a  more  civil-spoken  auld  gentle- 
man I  never  wish  to  wait  on.  Oh,  he  will  have  his 
bit  joke!  He  canna  help  that  —  somethin'  aboot 
dancin'  it  was,  but  I  just  told  him  that  we  auld  folk 
were  better  at  home." 

"Old  folk?     What  nonsense!" 

"  Na,  there  's  no  nonsense  aboot  it.  I  'm  thirty- 
three,  ma  dear,  just  an  auld  maid.  But  what  does 
it  matter;  naebody  cares." 

"  Thirty-three  's  not  so  very  old.  I  '11  be  thirty 
myself  in  seven  years.  And  besides  I  care." 

Devina's  face  glowed,  but  she  only  said :  "  Yer 
hair 's  comin'  out ;  ye  put  too  many  French  denti- 
frishes  on.  Nothing  touches  mine  but  cauld  water, 
an'  it  was  the  same  with  ma  mother  before  me.  Keep 
yer  head  still.  What  like  dances  had  ye?  " 

She  listened  to  the  vivacious  account  with  keen 
62 


TODDIE 

feminine  curiosity,  through  which  shone  a  nai've  and 
modest  amazement. 

"  Have  you  never  been  to  a  dance?  "  asked  her 
mistress,  roused  by  her  ejaculations. 

"  Never." 

"  Don't  you  like  dancing?  " 

Devina  shook  her  head.  "  Na,  na,  dancin'  has 
never  come  ma  way.  I  used  to  keek  at  them  all 
dancin'  at  the  fair.  I  aye  liked  the  music  fine,  but, 
Lorrd  keep  us !  I  know  too  much  aboot  men  to 
be  carin'  to  be  gripped  by  the  likes  o'  them." 

Charity  did  not  smile,  for  there  was  that  in  the 
deep  voice  that  would  have  stifled  all  temptation  to 
merriment. 

"  You  've  not  been  happy,"  she  said  impulsively, 
then  wished  the  question  unspoken,  for  curiosity  con- 
nected with  Devina  seemed  an  inexcusable  lack  of 
delicacy.  But  to  her  surprise  and  relief  Devina 
did  not  resent  it.  The  hour,  the  silence,  the  shaded 
lights,  the  atmosphere  of  sympathy,  had  not  only 
broken  down  the  barriers  of  reticence  but  had  ob- 
literated class  distinctions.  More  —  they  awoke  in 
Devina's  lonely  heart  an  imperative  longing  to  be 
understood  by  one  of  her  own  sex  —  to  seek  the 
alleviation  of  spoken  words,  if  only  words  would 
come. 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  silence  painfully  sug- 
gestive of  effort,  then  in  a  low  awkward  voice,  and 

63 


brushing  sedulously  at  her  mistress's  hair  Devina 
began : 

"  I  might  have  been  happy,  but  —  how  can  I  tell 
ye.  It 's  the  way  ye  're  made.  Some  folk  get  all 
the  love,  an'  others  get  none."  She  broke  off,  then 
with  a  burst  of  feeling  strangely  and  unexpectedly 
eloquent :  "  Oh,  it 's  easy  for  you,  ma  dearie,  with 
your  laughin'  wee  face  and  bonnie  manners  to  win 
love,  and  glad  and  proud  am  I  to  see  it  —  but  I  'm 
different.  There  was  a  time  —  I  once  thought  — 
but  that 's  all  over  now.  Naebody  will  ever  love  me. 
Whisht,  keep  still,  ye  needna  contradict.  I  ken  fine 
what  I  'm  sayin'.  When  ye  've  a  face  that  glowers 
like  —  like  a  ghost,  ye  just  give  folk  the  shudders. 
I  've  thought  about  it  more  than  I  like  to  tell  ye. 
Folk  are  blind,  an'  ye  canna  blame  them,  for  a 
woman's  heart  is  like  her  hair  I  'm  thinkin',  mostly 
out  o'  sight,  and  it 's  the  false  that  makes  the  most 
show." 

There  was  a  note  of  unconscious  tragedy  in  her 
voice  that  seemed  to  rise  from  some  profound  depth 
of  sadness  and  disillusion.  It  moved  Charity  deeply, 
but  fearful  of  interruption,  and  still  under  the  spell 
of  surprise,  she  sat  still. 

"  There  was  father,"  continued  Devina  colorlessly. 
"  I  believe  he  was  willin'  to  love  me.  That 's  queer, 
is  it  no'?  But  I  was  hard  on  him.  He  was  just 
a  bairn,  ye  may  say,  and  bairns  canna  thrive  without 

64 


TODDIE 

love ;  an'  I  gave  him  black  looks  and  a  rough  tongue. 
What  if  he  did  drink?  "  Her  voice  rose  harsh  and 
aggressive.  "  What  if  he  was  n't  honest  an'  sairly 
wanted  releegion?  Didna  everybody  love  him? 
An'  it  was  ma  fault.  When  mother  died  — *  Be  kind 
to  him,  Devina,'  says  she.  And  how  did  I  do  it?  I 
drove  him  to  his  death." 

"  No,  no." 

"  But  aye,  it 's  clear  to  me  now.  If  I  'd  brung  him 
up  different  would  he  have  stolen  yon  treesure? 
Would  he  have  gone  wi'  all  his  sins  like  scarlet 
straight  to  the  Judgment  Seat  o'  God?  " 

"  But  —  he  was  drowned  trying  to  do  his  duty  — 
trying  to  bring  it  back." 

"  And  so  he  was,  the  Lorrd  be  thanked !  And  now 
it 's  his  own  daughter  that 's  tryin'  her  best  to  rob 
him  o'  his  good  name.  That 's  just  like  me.  Here, 
pass  that  ribbon." 

"  Was  there  no  one  else?  "  asked  Charity  in  a  low 
voice. 

There  came  no  answer,  but  the  hands  tying  the 
ribbon  trembled. 

"  Don't  tell  me,  Devina  t  I  should  n't  have 
asked." 

"  There  's  little  to  tell,  dearie,  only  anither  mis- 
take. But  — "  Her  tone  changed  swiftly  — 
"  what  right  have  I  to  trouble  you,  more  shame  to  me 
—  a  young  thing  like  you.  I  have  to  thank  ye,  ma 
5  65 


TODDIE 

dear,  for  listenin*  sae  kindly,  I  canna  think  what 
made  me  talk  like  that.  Hoots! — "  Her  hand 
rested  on  the  girl's  shoulder,  for  Charity  was  looking 
round  at  her  with  very  real  trouble  in  her  eyes  — 
"  Hoots,  never  bother  yer  head  about  me  —  I  'm  fine. 
Now,  sup  yer  soup  and  say  yer  prayers." 

Little  more  was  said,  and  that  little  touched  ex- 
clusively on  practical  matters,  but  as  Devina  crossed 
the  room  to  put  out  the  gas,  something  white  on 
the  carpet  attracted  her  attention.  She  picked  it 
up. 

"  That 's  my  program.     Give  it  to  me." 

The  tone  of  the  girl's  voice  made  Devina  look  at 
her.  Charity,  now  beneath  the  bedclothes,  was 
holding  out  her  hand. 

"  What  like  's  a  program  ?  "  she  questioned  with 
curiosity. 

The  explanation  caused  her  to  cry :  "  I  'd  like 
fine  to  see  it." 

Charity  hesitated. 

"  Only  if  ye  like,"  added  Devina  with  a  flush. 

Receiving  permission  she  inspected  it  with  eager- 
ness. 

"  Ma  word !  What  a  lot  o'  dances !  And  will 
these  queer  marks  be  yer  partners  ?  " 

"Y-es." 

'*  I  canna  make  them  out.  Here  's  a  D.  an'  there  's 
66 


TODDIE 

a  D.  and  there  's  anither  and  anither  D.  further  on 
—  ten,  aye  eleven.  And  who  will  D.  be  ?  " 

Her  grave,  truth-compelling  eyes  rested  on  her 
mistress.  Charity,  rosy  with  a  pretty  embarrassment, 
was  forced  to  murmur: 

"  Major  Dale." 


erf 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  confession  of  the  program  did  not  pass  from 
Devina's  mind. 

And  to  realize  to  the  full  its  effect  upon  her,  it 
will  be  necessary  to  dwell  upon  her  relations  towards 
her  mistress. 

Devina  belonged  to  that  fast  disappearing  class 
of  Scottish  domestic  servants  whose  interests  are 
welded  inseparably  with  those  of  their  employers  — 
who  enter  service  with  no  thought  of  chang- 
ing —  who  remain  in  it  with  no  idea  of  "  bettering  " 
themselves  —  who  become  almost  one  of  the  family, 
honest,  self-respecting,  hard-working,  and  plain- 
speaking,  subject  to  tantrums,  as  who  among  us  is 
not  ?  but  steadfast  as  their  native  hills  and,  if  put  to 
the  proof,  faithful  even  unto  death. 

And  it  was  but  natural  that  Devina,  entering  the 
Fords'  employment  bowed  down  by  her  father's 
tragic  death  and  broken  by  her  one  disastrous  love 
affair,  should  attach  herself  passionately  to  the 
motherless  girl  who  came  into  her  empty  life  like  a 
heaven-sent  consolation,  unconsciously  appealing  to 
love  and  fostering  care. 

68 


TODDIE 

The  heart  of  the  lonely  woman  —  a  heart  too  big 
to  be  articulate,  capable  of  all  devotion,  all  self- 
sacrifice  —  expended  itself  with  unstinting  prodigal- 
ity. It  gave  its  all  and  looked  for  no  return.  Yet 
this  labor  of  love  brought  its  own  reward.  In  the 
day-long  service,  in  the  unsleeping  vigilance,  even 
in  the  practice  of  rigid  and  unnecessary  economy 
Devina,  unseeking,  found  temporary  anodyne  from 
sorrow.  And  if,  in  the  night  watches,  the  phantoms 
of  dead  hopes  haunted  her  pillow,  she  would  banish 
them  sternly,  forcing  wistful  dreams,  and  tender  but 
unrealized  anticipations  to  the  bottom  of  her  aching 
heart. 

Her  position  in  the  household  had  from  the  first 
been  one  of  unquestioned  authority.  Her  fellow 
servants  discovered,  greatly  to  their  indignation, 
that  if  they  failed  to  please  Devina  they  had  to  go  — 
an  alternative  of  which  they  availed  themselves  with 
disconcerting  frequency.  Unsparing  towards  her- 
self, she  had  no  thought  of  sparing  others.  As  a 
cook  she  had  proved  a  failure.  Not  but  that  her 
performances,  viewed  from  the  dining-room,  were 
above  reproach.  Still,  the  meals  in  the  kitchen  were 
productive  of  nothing  but  discontent,  aggravated 
by  her  suspicion  of  "  nights  out  "  and  deadly  hostility 
to  "  followers." 

"  Jane  has  given  warning,"  Charity  had  said  once, 
when  she  was  old  enough  to  visit  the  kitchen  for  the 

69 


TODDIE 

purpose  of  "  receiving  "  rather  than  "  giving  "  or- 
ders. 

"  A  good  riddance,"  Devina  had  retorted  grimly. 

"  That  is  the  third  housemaid  in  six  months." 

"  Weel,  we  're  better  without  them.  A  set  o*  silly 
hussies,  aye  thinkin'  of  their  faces  or  their  stomachs. 
I  've  no  patience  with  them." 

Elevated  to  the  rank  of  lady's  maid  —  a  promotion 
due  more  to  interest  than  suitability  —  Devina  took 
kindly  to  her  new  duties.  It  pleased  her  well  to  be 
the  personal  attendant  of  "  the  mistress."  But  far 
from  being  puffed  up,  she  was  not  above  turning 
her  hand  to  anything  required,  or  not  required,  of 
her,  from  sweeping  floors  to  cleaning  silver.  As  an 
overseer  of  slaves  Devina  would  have  been  invalua- 
ble ;  but  as  one  of  a  civilized  household,  expected  to 
run  in  treble  harness  with  a  cook  and  a  house-table 
maid  it  must  be  admitted  that  Devina  was  a  sad 
stumbling-block.  Between  her  and  her  fellows  there 
was  war  perennial  and  bitter  that  stopped  short  only 
at  active  hostilities,  for  she  exercised  over  them  a 
grim  and  suspicious  surveillance  hard  to  be  borne, 
harder  to  forgive. 

"  Do  yer  duty  an'  I  've  naethin'  to  say,"  she  would 
explain  to  a  newcomer  in  a  tone  that  announced 
that,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  her  mind  was  made 
up  for  the  worst. 

Taken  to  task  by  Charity  for  some  speech  of  es- 
70 


TODDIE 

pecial  severity,  she  would  listen  with  a  comical  mix- 
ture of  penitence  and  obstinacy,  then  cry :  "  Did 
I  not  see  her  eatin'  your  dessert?  No  better  nor  a 
common  thief!  Aye,  ye  can  go  and  see  for  yerself, 
Miss  Charity ;  there  's  only  six  sweeties  left  in  the  dish, 
and  was  I  to  let  that  pass?  Not  likely !  " 

Domineering  over  her  mistress,  guarding  her  inter- 
ests with  the  fidelity  of  an  honest  watch-dog,  envelop- 
ing her  with  a  worship  that,  balked  of  natural  outlet, 
struggled  continually  to  express  itself  in  a  barren  and 
intemperate  zeal,  Devina  had  gradually  come  to  con- 
sider Charity  as  a  something  peculiarly  her  own,  a 
treasure  confided  to  her  care  during  their  passage 
through  a  naughty  world. 

The  simile  of  the  dog  holds  good.  For  even  as  a 
collie  might  defend  a  lamb  from  wolves,  so  was  Devina 
prepared  to  defend  her  mistress  from  men. 

Nor  was  she  without  high  authority  for  her  dis- 
torted philosophy,  abounding  in  Scriptural  quotations 
from  which,  though  she  usually  kept  them  to  herself, 
she  derived  an  austere  and  melancholy  satisfaction. 
"  All  men  are  liars,"  may  be  cited  as  an  example. 

Still,  with  commendable  foresight  she  did  not  seek 
to  induce  her  mistress  to  forbid  them  the  house. 
Sterling  common  sense  whispered  to  her  that  even 
were  she  successful  —  a  result  by  no  means  probable, 
for  Charity  was  not  without  considerable  independ- 
ence of  character  —  she  would,  by  so  doing,  put  her- 

71 


TODDIE 

self  beyond  the  pale  of  confidence.  This  fear 
brought  her  heart  to  her  mouth,  for  the  delightful 
intimacy  when  she  waited  on  her  mistress  and  listened 
enthralled  to  the  girlish  chatter  were  the  golden  hours 
of  Devina's  life. 

Forced  to  dissemble,  and  even  to  feign  an  interest 
in  these  natural  foes  she  was  far  from  feeling,  Devina 
watched  them  come  and  go  with  profound,  if  secret, 
disapproval.  Until  the  night  of  the  ball,  however, 
all  had  seemed  well.  Despite  her  remarks  to  Toddie 
upon  the  occasion  of  her  memorable  tea-party,  even 
her  jealous  eyes  had  discovered  no  real  cause  for 
apprehension.  Charity,  coaxed  artfully  thereto,  had 
always  appeared  ready  to  air  her  innocent  views  upon 
all  male  visitors  with  the  light-hearted  ingenuousness 
of  one  essentially  fancy  free. 

But  the  episode  of  the  program  had  banished  for- 
ever all  feelings  of  security.  Too  poignantly  aware 
of  the  swift  and  insidious  advances  of  love,  Devina 
noted  with  mute  consternation  the  infallible  symp- 
toms — •  the  sudden  illuminating  silence  when  Dale's 
name  was  mentioned,  the  tell-tale  blush  that,  like  a 
danger  signal,  gave  warning  of  his  approach  —  and, 
so  noting,  marveled  at  and  passed  censure  on  her 
blindness. 

It  was  characteristic  of  her  that  she  blamed  neither 
Charity  nor  the  Major.  It  was  to  her  morbidly  con- 
scientious mind  as  though  she  herself  had  proved 

72 


TODDIE 

false  to  a  solemn  trust.  Exaggerated  as  was  this 
conviction,  it  yet  had  its  roots  in  the  soil  of  bitter 
personal  experience.  Seared  by  a  great  sorrow,  the 
one  preoccupation  of  her  troubled  and  unselfish  heart 
was  to  save  this  young  and  joyous  life  from  a  similar 
catastrophe.  Wistfully  and  with  infinite  pathos  she 
recalled  the  days  when  she,  too,  had  trembled  and 
grown  glad,  when  the  world  had  seemed  nothing  but 
a  dream  of  color,  and  light,  and  music  —  recalled  also 
the  dark  awakening,  the  abandonment,  the  despair. 

Who  shall  ridicule  her  for  her  misgivings,  extrava- 
gant though  they  were?  Who  but  must  pity  and 
sympathize  ? 

She  did  not  give  in.  Something  could  surely  be 
done  ?  What  ?  Resolutely  she  set  herself  to  face  the 
situation.  It  was  she,  Devina,  single-handed  against 
the  oldest  and  most  immutable  law  of  nature.  As  she 
recognized  the  might  of  the  forces  ranged  against 
her,  there  rose  in  her  bosom  a  cold  and  deadly  sensa- 
tion of  impotence.  She  strove  to  fight  it  down,  angry 
at  her  weakness,  but  it  would  not  be  dismissed.  If 
only  she  could  find  an  ally,  some  one  who  shared  her 
views,  some  one  whose  interests  and  whose  happiness 
were  equally  at  stake.  But  to  whom  could  she  turn? 
To  Charity?  No.  To  one  of  her  fellow  servants? 
Never. 


CHAPTER  IX 

<T  Tf  TILL  we  be  goin'  oot  this  afternoon,  sir?  " 
\  V          The  Major  replied  in  the  negative. 

A  gleam  of  satisfaction  shone  in  Toddie's  eyes. 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  "  questioned  his  master. 

Toddie  shifted  the  heavy  bag.  Their  morning 
round  finished  they  were  standing  opposite  the  club- 
house, in  full  view  of  the  caddies'  shelter.  Out  of 
the  tail  of  his  eye  Toddie  could  see  Murdoch  and 
Hunter  leaning  on  the  railings.  Hastily  assuming 
a  confidential  attitude,  intended  to  convey  to  these 
unbelievers  that  he  and  his  master  were  deep  in  one 
of  the  long  and  intimate  talks  of  which  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  boasting,  he  said  gratefully:- 

"Aweel,  Major,  this  is  verra  kind  o'  ye  —  verra 
kind  indeed.  Ye  see,  I  was  asked  to  do  a  job,  wheelin' 
rubbish  it  was,  oot  o'  Mister  McCrae's  garden.  Ye 
siee,  these  builder  chaps  have  dumped  it  doon  on  his 
bit  grass,  an'  him  that  partic'lar.  So  Mister  McCrae 
up  an'  says  to  me,  '  Toddie,'  says  he,  '  I  '11  give  ye 
tuppence  a  load  to  wheel  it  doon  the  lane.'  Ye  see, 
he  was  standin'  like  as  it  might  be  you  — " 

74 


TODDIE 

"  I  quite  understand,"  interposed  the  Major. 
"  Good  day." 

Cut  short  in  the  full  swing  of  recital,  Toddie  was 
left  with  open  mouth.  And  to  make  matters  worse 
an  ironical  laugh  from  Murdoch  was  unpleasantly 
audible. 

"  Here,  Maj  or !  "  he  cried  imploringly  to  the  broad 
retreating  back.  "  Ye  're  makin'  an  awful  mistake. 
That 's  not  what  I  'm  goin'  to  do  at  all." 

Dale  turned  round.  A  look  of  long-suffering,  se- 
verely strained,  pushed  Toddie  straight  to  the  point. 

"  I  'm  just  goin'  to  take  Bob  for  a  run." 

"Bob?" 

"  Aye.  Ye  'd  be  astonished  at  his  cleverness. 
He  'd  find  oot  I  'd  been  cartin'  rubbish.  He  'd  smell 
it  on  ma  boots.  He  'd  be  sair  disappointed.  Hoots, 
naebody  kens  better  nor  you,  Major,  that  when  ye 
have  a  dog  dependin'  on  ye,  ye  canna  just  do  as  ye 
like." 

The  Major  smiled.  Toddie  flashed  a  triumphant 
glance  at  Murdoch,  then  indulged  in  the  whimsical 
grimace  he  fondly  imagined  to  be  indicative  of  merri- 
ment. 

"That's  so.  That's  a  fact,"  he  cried  in  high 
good  humour.  "  And  you,  Maj  or,  what  are  ye  goin' 
to  do  yerself  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Dale  —  a  person  of  no  little  dignity 
—  was  of  a  mind  to  administer  a  snub,  but  so  guile- 

75 


TODDIE 

less  and  friendly  was  the  little  caddie,  so  transpar- 
ently unaware  of  having  overstepped  the  bounds  of 
professional  etiquette,  that  he  could  not  find  it  in  his 
heart  to  voice  it. 

"  I  'm  going  out  to  tea,"  he  announced  gravely. 

Long  after  the  swing  doors  had  snatched  his  mas- 
ter from  sight,  Toddie  stood  staring  blankly  at  the 
club-house. 

"  Goin'  oot  to  his  tea,"  he  muttered  as  he  turned 
away.  "  To  his  tea  —  with  her,  I  '11  be  bound.  Lorrd 
help  him ! " 

Even  the  behavior  of  Bob  —  wild  with  excitement 
at  the  prospect  of  the  unusual  walk  —  failed  to  dissi- 
pate his  melancholy. 

The  friends  shaped  their  course  for  the  sands  — 
Toddie,  silent,  brooding,  his  head  bent,  his  hands 
plunged  into  his  trousers  pockets  —  Bob,  careering 
far  and  wide  savoring  the  joys  of  freedom  —  excur- 
sions to  sample  irresistible  odors,  alternating  with  re- 
assuring and  affectionate  visits  to  his  master. 

Protracted  dejection,  however,  that  even  the  sight 
of  a  sea-gull  is  unable  to  alleviate,  is  apt  to  prove  in- 
fectious. Bob  began  to  realize  that  something  was 
wrong.  Why  was  his  master  sad?  It  was  unusual. 
It  was  plainly  necessary  that  he,  Bob,  should  admin- 
ister comfort.  Full  of  this  idea  he  laid  a  stick 
proudly  at  Toddie's  feet,  then  stood  aside  with  loud 
barks  of  joyous  anticipation.  But  Toddie  walked  on. 

76 


TODDIE 

No  whit  discouraged,  Bob  repeated  the  perform- 
ance. 

"  Bob,"  said  Toddie,  coming  to  a  halt  and  rousing 
himself,  "  Bob,  I  'm  not  mindin'  ye." 

Bob  looked  with  insinuating  eagerness  first  at  the 
stick  and  then  up  into  his  master's  face. 

"  I  have  nae  heart  for  sticks  the  day,"  explained 
Toddie. 

Unwilling  to  disappoint  the  eager  little  creature, 
however,  he  complied  with  the  vociferous  entreaties. 
But  it  was  a  poor,  half-hearted  throw,  and  afforded 
no  real  satisfaction  to  four  active  legs  longing  for 
exercise.  Even  Bob  was  forced  to  admit  that  there 
exist  human  moods  that  lie  beyond  the  reach  of  sticks. 
Giving  it  up  as  a  bad  job  he  came  to  heel.  And  thus 
they  fared  forward,  man  and  dog,  two  small  and 
slow-moving  figures,  over  the  wide  and  desolate 
sands. 

The  afternoon  was  cheerless.  Overhead,  heavy  and 
ominous  clouds  passed  sullenly.  At  times  the  bitter 
wind  fell  upon  the  comrades,  then  fled  seawards, 
snatching  at  the  waves  and  blowing  backwards  in 
long  fringes  of  foam.  The  dark  line  of  dunes  that 
upreared  themselves  against  the  west,  and  lay  like  a 
rampart  between  the  beach  and  the  links,  stood  out, 
naked,  full  of  gloom.  When  the  wind  lulled,  the 
sea  could  be  heard  moaning  disconsolately.  Behind 
them,  St.  Andrews  perched  upon  the  gray  cliffs  was 

77 


TODDIE 

all  but  lost  in  the  murky  atmosphere.  Nothing 
moved,  nothing  was  alive  above  and  about  this  dreary 
expanse  save  the  mysteries  of  sea,  and  wind,  and 
cloud.  Though  but  little  after  three  o'clock,  the 
northern  winter  had  already  enshrouded  the  scene  in 
dusk.  One  might  have  said  that  night  had  come, 
had  it  not  been  that  low  in  the  west,  through  a  rift 
in  the  wind-blown  wrack,  there  still  shone  a  lurid  and 
watery  gleam.  The  pervading  sentiment  of  the  hour 
and  place  was  one  of  infinite  melancholy. 

Toddie,  still  a  victim  to  forebodings,  seated  him- 
self on  a  small  hillock  upon  which  tall  and  feathery 
reeds  bent  to  the  fitful  violence  of  the  wind.  Bob, 
nothing  loath,  followed  his  example,  nestling  close  to 
his  master's  side  for  warmth  and  protection.  He  had 
the  air  of  one  silent  from  sympathy. 

"  Bob,"  said  Toddie  suddenly,  putting  his  arm 
round  the  patient  form,  "  Bob,  he  '11  be  drinkin*  his 
tea  the  now." 

Bob  licked  his  lips.     Toddie  continued: 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  she  was  after.  I  mistrust 
her.  Women,  they  're  that  soft  ootside  and  that  hard 
inside,  that  an  unsuspectin'  man  has  nae  chance  at 
all. —  Are  ye  listenin'  ?  " 

Bob  gave  the  required  assurance.  Toddie  mean- 
dered on: 

"  Ye  see,  it 's  no'  ma  place  to  meddle.  He  'd  tell 
me  to  mind  ma  ain  business  —  as  if  this  wasna  ma 

78 


TODDIE 

business,  me  that  has  carried  for  him  five  year  come 
Martinmas !  But  I  'm  bothered,  I  am  indeed.  He  's 
nae  match  for  her  in  craftiness  —  scratch  player  and 
all  though  he  is.  Book  learnin'  is  all  verra  weel,  but 
when  it  comes  to  meddlin*  with  a  woman,  hoots,  it 's 
no  more  good  to  ye  nor  a  split  ball.  What  are  ye 
after  now  ?  " 

The  remonstrance  was  not  unreasonable,  for  Bob 
was  engaged  in  an  attempt  to  bury  himself  inside  his 
master's  waistcoat. 

"  Ye  see,"  Toddie  went  on,  obligingly  unfastening 
a  button,  "  it 's  help  I  'm  needin'.  I  can  do  nothin' 
by  maself .  I  'm  j  ust  a  fool  at  the  thinkin'.  Man !  if 
I  could  only  find  somebody  —  Here !  for  ony  sake  lie 
doon,  what  are  ye  aboot  ?  " 

A  touch  of  exasperation  rang  in  his  voice,  for  Bob, 
springing  from  his  warm  retreat,  began  to  bark  fu- 
riously. His  curiosity  aroused,  Toddie  stared  in  the 
direction  indicated.  He  had  not  long  to  wait,  for, 
even  as  he  looked,  round  an  adjacent  hillock,  black 
against  the  dark  dunes  and  the  ominous  sky,  came  a 
woman. 


79 


CHAPTER  X 

TODDIE  sat  still.  So  silently  and  unexpectedly 
had  the  intruder  appeared  that  he  had  neither 
time  to  avoid  her  nor  to  retreat.  At  first  he  hoped 
she  would  turn  to  the  left  where  an  opening  in  the 
low  hills  led  to  the  sea,  but  undisturbed  by  Bob's 
outcry  and  apparently  deep  in  thought  she  continued 
to  advance  straight  upon  them.  When  she  was 
within  a  couple  of  yards  it  was  with  astonishment 
that  Toddie  recognized  Devina. 

The  recognition  was  mutual.  Devina  came  ab- 
ruptly to  a  standstill. 

"You!"  she  ejaculated  in  a  tone  of  disapproba- 
tion. 

"  Aye,  me,"  blurted  Toddie  defiantly. 

Despite  his  courageous  attitude  he  stared  up  at  her 
with  considerable  apprehension.  Dressed  as  usual  in 
black,  she  loomed  above  him,  dark  against  the  dusky 
background ;  appeared  indeed  to  be  a  symbol  of  it. 
It  was  as  though  the  desolate  sands,  shadow-haunted 
and  oppressed  with  imminent  night,  had  metamor- 
phosed themselves  into  her  lonely  form. 

Not  that  Toddie  was  moved  by  any  such  fanciful 
80 


TODDIE 

imaginings.  But  her  face  held  him.  Singularly; 
handsome,  singularly  masterful,  from  the  steady  eyes 
to  the  firm  mouth,  its  suggestion  of  underlying 
strength  troubled  him,  as  did  its  expression  of  mel- 
ancholy. This  —  he  vaguely  felt  with  something 
akin  to  awe  —  was  no  shiftless,  garrulous  specimen  of 
her  sex,  such  as  he  heard  railing  in  Logic's  Lane  of 
an  evening,  but  a  woman  steadfast  and  sparing  of  un- 
necessary speech  as  the  Maiden  Rock,  that  isolated 
pinnacle  that,  breaking  the  iron  coast-line  to  the 
south,  frowned  down  upon  the  sea. 

"  What  are  ye  do  in'  out  here  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  The  sands  is  free,"  he  retorted. 

She  looked  as  though  she  would  fain  have  con- 
tradicted this  statement.  The  silence  that  ensued  was 
long  and  full  of  hostile  constraint.  Ancient  preju- 
dices were  at  work  in  the  minds  of  each.  Yet  neither 
would  speak,  and  neither  would  retreat. 

From  Toddie's  point  of  view  Bob's  behavior  at  this 
crisis  was  not  only  inexplicable  but  inexcusable.  In- 
stead of  supporting  his  master,  as  in  duty  bound,  he 
• —  by  nature  undemonstrative  to  strangers  —  actu- 
ally made  friendly  overtures  to  the  enemy,  and  more 
astounding  still,  they  were  accepted  with  a  species  of 
grim  toleration. 

"  That 's  a  nice  wee  dog,"  she  said  awkwardly. 

"  No'  bad,"  muttered  Toddie,  scowling  reproach  at 
Bob,  but  inwardly  flattered. 
6  81 


TODDIE 

The  wind  swept  down  upon  them,  a  cutting  blast 
that  pierced  to  the  bones,  for  the  distant  hills  were 
white  with  newly-fallen  snow.  Devina  clutched  at 
her  hat,  and  Toddie  volunteered  the  information  that 
they  were  "  bonnily  protectet "  by  the  sand-dunes, 
but  otherwise  both  seemed  to  take  the  inclemency  of 
the  weather  as  a  matter  of  course. 

All  around,  upon  the  innumerable  little  hillocks 
that  dotted  the  higher  sand-slopes,  the  dry  and  with- 
ered reeds  rustled  mournfully.  Behind  the  man  and 
woman  the  shadows  were  massing  steadily  and  imper- 
ceptibly. The  light  in  the  west  had  been  slowly 
blotted  out.  All  was  gray  with  an  opacity  that  in- 
creased momently,  and  sad  with  a  sadness  that  rose 
from  the  dead  earth  like  an  exhalation,  moaned  far 
off  in  the  voice  of  the  sea  and  fell  as  a  pall  from 
the  starless  sky. 

Something  in  the  loneliness  and  isolation  of  their 
position,  added  to  a  craving  for  human  sympathy, 
inarticulate  and  almost  unconscious,  drew  them  to- 
gether. In  Toddie,  as  he  looked  up  at  her  dark  and 
dominant  figure,  it  gave  birth  to  a  wondering  and 
fearful  curiosity  that  suddenly  vented  itself  in  the 
question :  "  Do  ye  often  walk  oot  here  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,"  she  replied  curtly. 

"  What  for?  "  he  blurted. 

She  looked  at  him  as  though  she  resented  his  ques- 
tion, then  said :  "  Thinking." 

82 


TODDIE 

"  It 's  a  grand  place  for  that,"  he  assented,  then 
added,  not  without  melancholy  pride :  "  Me  and  Bob 
was  doin'  a  bit  o'  thinkin'  oorselves." 

But  she  betrayed  no  interest  in  this  information. 

There  ensued  another  lengthy  silence. 

"  I  must  be  goin'  home,"  said  Devina.  She  spoke 
as  one  waking  from  a  dream,  and  drew  her  cloak  more 
tightly  about  her. 

"  There  will  be  a  tea-party  at  your  house  the  day," 
remarked  Toddie  gloomily. 

"  No." 

"  Not  a  party !  " 

"  No." 

"What!     Just  himself ?" 

"Just  who?" 

"Himself.     The  Major." 

The  name  stung  her.     She  wheeled  upon  him. 

"  Is  he  there  again  ?  "  she  cried  thickly. 

"  He  is."  His  master's  voice  caused  Bob  to  prick 
apprehensive  ears.  "  I  was  afeared  of  it.  I  knew 
it.  Oh,  never  tell  me  ye  didna  ken.  I  dinna  believe 
ye.  You  that  waits  on  her.  There  's  no  trustin'.one 
of  ye.  You  women  are  all  alike." 

He  had  risen  to  his  feet.  Confronting  her,  for- 
getful of  his  fear,  he  voiced  in  his  accusations  all  the 
pent-up  apprehensions  of  his  heart. 

The  outburst  took  Devina  aback.  It  was  a  swift 
and  unforeseen  turning  of  the  tables.  It  anticipated 

83 


TODDIE 

and  silenced  the  anger  in  her  that  cried  aloud  for  ex- 
pression. Ingrained  suspicion  arose,  but  was  in- 
stantly discarded,  for  it  was  impossible  to  listen  to 
this  man  and  not  credit  him  with  absolute  sincerity. 
No  resentment  at  the  aspersions  cast  upon  her  sex  held 
place  in  her  thoughts.  Bewildered,  she  gazed  through 
the  windy  dusk  at  the  small,  thick-set  form  of  her 
antagonist  threatening  her  with  angry  and  strangely- 
unwonted  gestures.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  a  faint 
glimmer  of  hope  broke  upon  her  darkness. 

"  Why  do  you  care  ?  "  she  said  slowly. 

The  question  was  unexpected.  It  forced  him  to 
think,  to  put  into  words  much  that  was  to  him  inex- 
pressible. 

"  Why  do  you  care  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Why  do  I  care  ?  I  care  —  because  —  weel,  I  do 
care,  but  I  'm  not  goin'  to  tell  you.  I  see  what  ye  're 
after.  It 's  a  trap." 

"  It  »s  no  trap,"  she  cried.  "  It 's  the  truth  I  'm 
wantin*.  Man,  what  have  I  to  do  with  your  feelin's? 
It 's  of  her  I  'm  thinkin'." 

Toddie  gasped.  "Of  her?  What  of  her?"  he 
ejaculated. 

The  question  let  loose  the  dark  brood  of  fears  that, 
like  poisonous  snakes  lived  and  preyed  in  secret  upon 
Devina's  heart.  In  the  short  and  often  broken  sen- 
tences, where  strong  emotions  struggled  too  often 
inarticulately,  there  sounded  a  suggestion  of  personal 

84 


TODDIE 

and  undying  tragedy  that  became  audible  only  under 
cover  of  deep  and  unselfish  anxiety  for  another. 

Toddie,  giving  ear,  semi-bewildered  and  awe-struck, 
recognized  his  own  apprehensions  as  in  a  mirror,  and, 
like  objects  seen  in  a  mirror,  facing  the  opposite  way. 
Her  doubts  did  not  appear  to  him  so  much  distorted 
as  misapplied.  Yet  such  as  they  were,  they  came 
upon  him  with  the  startling  suddenness  of  a  revela- 
tion. For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  made  to 
see  that  there  existed  another  side  —  the  woman's 
point  of  view  —  and  it  was  painted  for  him  in  colors 
that  flamed. 

Gradually,  when  his  first  temptation  to  incredulity 
had  been  overcome,  it  dawned  upon  his  simple  mind 
that,  though  viewing  the  impending  catastrophe  from 
different  standpoints,  their  mental  attitude  towards 
it  was  amazingly  similar  —  that  Devina  was  as  re- 
solved to  save  her  mistress,  as  he  was  determined  to 
protect  his  master. 

This  discovery  revolutionized  his  outlook.  It 
chased  away  much  of  his  hostility  towards  his  com- 
panion. Nay,  more,  by  depriving  her  of  the  fearful- 
ness  due  to  her  sex  —  for  he  now  viewed  her  not  as  a 
woman  but  as  an  ally  —  it  almost  banished  his 
timidity. 

His  mind  teemed  with  new  and  remarkable  thoughts, 
in  which  Devina  played  the  principal  part.  Master- 
ful though  she  undoubtedly  was,  Toddie  told  him- 

85 


TODDIE 

self  —  not  without  inward  trepidation  —  that  she 
would  be  but  a  tool  in  the  hands  of  a  capable  man. 
The  idea  flattered  him. 

Devina  ceased  to  speak.  She  stood  before  him, 
dark  and  tempestuous  as  the  gathering  night.  Now 
was  the  time. 

"  Me  and  you,"  began  Toddie  with  extreme  cau- 
tion, and  amazed  to  hear  his  own  voice  linking  him 
with  a  woman,  "  me  and  you  wants  the  same  thing." 

He  paused.  There  was  that  in  his  opening  words 
that  reminded  him  of  an  election  speech  delivered  once 
in  his  hearing  by  the  Liberal  Parliamentary  Candi- 
date. The  resemblance  surprised,  yet  delighted  him. 
He  had  no  idea  he  could  be  so  eloquent.  Somewhat 
flushed,  he  tried  to  make  out  whether  his  companion 
was  duly  impressed,  but,  owing  to  the  dusk,  failed 
to  see  her  expression.  Trying  to  fit  in  the  remem- 
bered utterances  of  the  popular  demagogue  with  the 
case  in  point,  he  continued: 

"  Ye  may  ask  yerself  no'  withoot  reason  why  I  'm 
standin'  up  here  the  night.  Weel,  I  '11  tell  ye.  We 
wants  the  same  thing.  We  're  sensible  folk.  We 
see  plain.  We  kens  the  danger  that  threatens  us. 
It 's  a  danger  o' —  a  danger  o' —  dang  it !  I  canna 
put  it  into  words,  but  ye  ken  weel  enough  what  I 
mean." 

Her  gloomy  affirmative  consoled  him  for  the  break- 
down. He  continued :  "  We  wants  the  same  thing. 

86 


TODDIE 

It 's  like  this.  What  I  mean  is,  two  heads  are  better 
nor  one,  even  if  one  o'  them  has  the  misfortune  to  be 
a  woman.  But  it  will  no'  be  easy.  I  can  see  that. 
But  hoots,  we  '11  just  save  him  in  spite  o'  himself." 

"  Her,"  corrected  Devina  sternly. 

"  Weel,  if  ye  do  the  one  thing  ye  do  the  ither. 
But  what  I  was  minded  to  say  —  dinna  speak  or  ye  '11 
put  it  oot  o'  ma  head  —  was  this,  me  and  you  must 
work  thegither.  It 's  what  the  Maj  or  was  say  in' 
only  last  week  — " 

"  What 's  he  to  do  wi'  it?"  interrupted  the  deep 
voice  with  scorn. 

"Whisht,  till  I  tell  ye.  «  Toddie,'  says  he,  and 
verra  pleasant  he  was  for  we  'd  won  oor  match  five  up 
and  four  to  play.  '  Toddie,  it 's  workin'  thegither 
does  it.'  Now  you  — "  carried  away  by  his  subject 
he  would  have  laid  an  explanatory  forefinger  on  her 
arm,  but  she  avoided  him.  "  You  in  the  house  and 
me  on  the  links  is  no  good  at  all.  Ye  see  that?  " 

She  acquiesced  reluctantly. 

"  Aye,"  he  went  on,  "  no  good  at  all  —  that  is, 
withoot  we  meet.  Oh,  it 's  a  misfortune  I  grant  ye 
that:  but,  mind  ye,  I  do  it  for  the  Major's  sake.  I 
do  believe  I  'd  foregather  wi'  the  deil  himself  if  it 
would  pleesure  him." 

She  listened  grimly. 

"  What  would  ye  advise  ?  "  she  inquired,  after  a 
pause. 

87 


TODDIE 

Toddie  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears.  She  —  this 
big  fearsome  woman  —  was  actually  asking  his  ad- 
vice !  A  gush  of  unusual  self-importance  inflated  his 
chest.  But,  mastering  this  weakness,  he  frowned. 

"  I  canna  tell  ye  the  now.  I  must  think  it  oot.  I 
do  most  o'  ma  thinkin'  wi'  Bob.  But  never  you  fear, 
I  '11  tell  ye  sure  enough  when  we  meet." 

"  And  when  will  that  be?  " 

Toddie  had  to  listen  attentively,  for  her  voice  was 
all  but  carried  away  by  the  wind.  He  could  scarcely 
see  her  save  as  a  blur  against  the  deeper  shadows  of 
the  sand-hills.  It  was  as  if  he  were  addressing  a 
phantom. 

"  Friday  ?  "  he  proposed,  after  thought. 

"  No." 

"Weel,  Saturday  then?" 

"  I  canna  come  except  on  ma  day  out  —  that 's 
once  a  fortnight.  And  I  'm  no'  goin'  to  have  the 
likes  of  you  hangin'  aboot  the  house  on  ma  account." 

"  But  it 's  no'  on  your  account,"  he  blurted,  with 
alarm. 

"  Weel,  I  'm  not  goin'  to  stand  it  onyway." 

Toddie  snorted. 

"  Ye  're  difficult,"  he  said  testily. 

"  I  'm  not.  I  'm  doin'  more  than  I  like  to  think 
about,  and  that 's  tellin*  ye.  It 's  a  fool-like  business 
onyway.  Still,  if  ye  want  to  see  me  you  must  just 
make  some  other  plan." 

88 


TODDIE 

Toddle  scratched  his  head. 

"  I  'd  no  idea  there  was  such  difficulty  aboot  meetin' 
a  woman  !  "  he  confessed  naively,  "  but  I  '11  tell  ye  — 
ye  might  be  taken  sick,  an'  forced  to  run  for  the  doc- 
tor. Women  are  aye  delicate,  I  hear." 

But  Devina  murdered  this  proposal  with  scorn. 

"  Aweel,"  he  said  wearily,  "  choose  yourself.  It 's 
no'  ma  fancy  to  spend  the  night  here,  an'  Bob 's 
wantin'  his  supper." 

Devina  pondered  long. 

"  Cook  and  Jessie  are  goin'  to  a  dance  on  Satur- 
day night,"  she  began  grudgingly. 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow  ?  That 's  awful  soon. 
It  was  the  week  after,  I  meant." 

"  That  '11  be  too  late ;  it 's  now  or  never.  Are  ye 
for  drawin'  back?  " 

"  No,  no,"  he  protested. 

"  Weel,  then,  if  you  think  o'  onything  that  makes 
it  worth  ma  while  to  waste  time  on  ye,  come  round  to 
the  back  door  aboot  nine  o'clock." 

"  I  '11  come,"  he  muttered  with  resignation. 

Then,  side  by  side,  and  in  constrained  silence,  they 
wended  their  way  towards  the  town. 


89 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  compact  made  on  the  sands  was  faithfully 
adhered  to.  Not  once  but  several  times  did  the 
conspirators  meet  to  exchange  news  and  to  concoct 
plans.  Devina's  attendance  upon  her  mistress  of- 
fered perhaps  greater  facilities  for  the  exercise  of 
influence  and  observation  than  did  the  more  mechan- 
ical and  peripatetic  servitude  of  Toddie,  but  so  fear- 
ful was  she  of  loosening  the  bands  of  intimacy  and 
confidence,  that,  though  filled  with  anxiety,  she  did 
not  dare  to  voice  it. 

As  for  Toddie,  when  in  the  presence  of  the  Major 
he  was  equally  mute  —  at  least  so  far  as  his  secret 
apprehensions  were  concerned.  Ever  since  the  day 
of  humiliation,  when  his  master  had  played  golf  with 
a  woman,  he  had  been  the  prey  of  fears  that  drove 
him  daily  to  consult  the  starting  list  with  an  anxious 
heart,  and  turned  the  Major's  engagement  book  into 
an  object  of  enthralling  but  troubled  curiosity. 

Many  a  time  did  Toddie  eye  it  enviously. 

"  Who  did  ye  say  we  were  playin'  to-morrow  ?  "  he 
had  inquired  upon  one  occasion  with  the  air  of  a  man 
apologizing  for  a  defective  memory,  and  the  infor- 

90 


TODDIE 

mation  elicited:  "And  who  the  next  day?"  This 
unusual  interest  had  caused  Dale  to  inspect  his  cad- 
die with  astonishment,  and  such  was  the  gravity,  not 
to  say  severity,  of  his  aspect  when  under  the  influ- 
ence of  this  emotion,  that  the  abashed  Toddie  rum- 
bled from  incoherent  excuses  to  penitential  silence. 

Forced  to  withdraw  into  inarticulate  depths,  he  con- 
tented himself  with  gazing  at  his  master  with  such 
mournful  intensity,  such  unexpressed  and  inexpressi- 
ble affection  and  commiseration  that  Dale  was  moved 
at  last  to  remonstrate. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  you,  Toddie  ?  "  he  cried. 
"  Are  you  ill?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  for  goodness'  sake  look  cheerful.  You  '11 
put  me  off  my  game." 

A  foozled  approach  confirmed  the  prognostication ; 
and  Toddie,  swiftly  overtaken  by  remorse,  strove  hard 
for  the  remainder  of  the  match  to  school  his  features 
to  a  deceitful  serenity. 

But  he  eased  his  mind  on  the  subject  when  next  he 
met  Devina. 

"  Ye  see,"  he  mourned,  "  ma  verra  face  Is  no'  mine, 
for  how  can  I  call  it  mine  when  it  isna  allowed  to  look 
as  it  likes?  Na,  na,  looks  has  become  a  luxury  I 
canna  afford.  I  'm  just  miserable.  When  I  see  him 
playin'  a  grand  game  —  seventy-five  it  was  yester- 
day, every  putt  holed  —  wi'  marriage  just  hangin' 

91 


TODDIE 

over  his  unsuspectin'  head,  I  say,  when  I  see  that,  it 
sends  ma  heart  into  ma  boots  —  or  rather  into  his 
own  boots,"  he  added  with  mournful  exactitude,  be- 
stowing a  glance  at  the  Major's  cast-off  property. 

These  meetings  were  a  consolation  to  them  both. 
Begun  with  disinclination  and  even  distaste  they  grad- 
ually came  to  be  a  something  to  which  to  look  for- 
ward, if  not  with  conscious  pleasure,  at  least  with 
feelings  of  melancholy  alleviation.  The  opportunity 
for  voicing  anxieties,  for  railing  at  marriage,  for  be- 
moaning those  instincts  that  drive  even  the  best  of 
men,  and  the  most  perfect  of  women,  to  seek  a  peril- 
ous and  unaccountable  pleasure  in  each  other's  so- 
ciety, came  as  a  welcome  relief  to  both. 

It  was  inevitable  that  they  should  have  occasional 
differences  of  opinion.  Toddie  was  severe  upon  the 
vice  of  feminine  tea-parties,  which  he  darkly  stigma- 
tized as  traps  for  unwary  men.  Devina  was  equally 
withering  upon  the  sin  of  male  visitors.  She  would 
point  out  that  the  devil  —  a  regular  visitor  —  was 
a  male.  "  And  does  he  no'  go  about  seekin'  whom 
he  may  devour?  "  she  would  cry  triumphantly. 

Her  partiality  for  unpleasant  Scriptural  quota- 
tions tried  Toddie  sorely.  Crawling  reluctantly  to 
their  first  assignation,  he  found  her  seated  at  the 
kitchen  table,  poring  with  knitted  brows  over  an  open 
Bible.  He  was  about  to  inquire  for  her  health,  when 
she  stayed  him  with  a  gesture. 

92 


TODDIE 

"  Here  it  is,"  she  cried  with  a  triumphant  glance 
in  his  direction.  "  Mark  this :  *  Withhold  thy  foot 
from  thy  neighbor's  house,  lest  he  weary  of  thee  and 
so  hate  thee.' ' 

Toddie,  one  foot  upon  the  threshold,  withdrew  it  in 
dismay. 

"  Who  's  thinkin'  of  you,"  she  cried,  and  her  scorn 
was  cutting.  "  It 's  yer  master  I  mean." 

With  a  mixture  of  relief  and  indignation  he  en- 
tered the  kitchen  and  verified  the  quotation. 

"  Aye,"  he  muttered  reluctantly,  "  there  's  no  de- 
nyin'  that 's  what  he  says.  But,  hoots,  it 's  weel 
he  didna  ken  the  Major.  Hate  him!  Ma  word,  I 
wish  she  would.  It 's  her  lovin'  him  that 's  the  dan- 
ger." 

One  dark  night  they  met  at  the  corner  of  Gibson 
Place. 

"  Onythin'  new?  "  inquired  Devina  curtly. 

"  He  would  n't  eat  but  the  one  egg  for  his  break- 
fast," said  Toddie  gloomily. 

"How  d'ye  know?" 

"  I  seed  him  through  the  window."  He  sighed, 
then  added :  "  The  ither  was  bad." 

Her  snort  of  indignation  seemed  to  him  to  betray 
a  deplorable  want  of  sympathy. 

"  And  yer  mistress  —  I  suppose  she 's  weel 
enough?  "  he  asked  with  some  bitterness. 

"  She  sneezed  twice  at  her  tea." 


TODDIE 

Toddle's  inconsiderate  laughter  was  the  reason  of 
their  parting  with  additional  coolness. 

Upon  another  occasion  —  one  fine  Sunday  after- 
noon —  they  met  in  the  ruined  cathedral.  The  con- 
versation turned  upon  the  Major. 

"  The  very  way  he  walks  before  ye  up  the  stair 
tells  ye  he  means  it,"  said  Devina  despondently. 

"  Aye,"  assented  Toddie  with  ready  admiration, 
"  he  's  a  hard  man  to  beat,  is  the  Major." 

"That  jaw  o'  his,"  continued  Devina  with  sup- 
pressed indignation.  "  He  just  sets  it  at  ye.  He  's 
that  big,  and  slow,  and  sure ;  when  I  see  him  standin' 
on  our  front  step  he  puts  me  in  mind  o'  a  mountain, 
and  I  just  wish  I  'd  faith  enough  to  cast  him  into  the 
sea,  so  I  do." 

"  Ah,  but  ye  couldna  keep  him  there ! "  cried  his 
admirer  exultantly.  "  He  'd  get  oot  in  spite  of  ye." 
Then  sobering,  and  shaking  a  pensive  head:  "  I 
sometimes  think  he  's  what  Professor  Hay  calls  a  wise 
law  o'  nature,  bound  to  have  its  way.  There 's 
nothin'  that  man  couldna  do  if  he  liked.  He  could 
get  on  the  town  council  to-morrow  —  but  he  's  not 
carin'.  Slow  and  sure,  is  he?  Weel,  and  what  if 
he  is?  Is  that  no'  ma  advice  to  him  every  single 
blessed  day?  Hoots,  away  wi'  ye,  woman,  ye  're  just 
praisin'  him  withoot  meanin'  it." 

She  looked  at  him  with  unusual  intentness.  He  re- 
turned her  gaze,  his  face  flushed  with  enthusiasm. 

94 


TODDIE 

"  You  're  staunch,"  she  said  slowly,  and  it  ap- 
peared as  though  she  were  actuated  by  a  grudging 
and  involuntary  approval.  Toddie,  much  embar- 
rassed, turned  the  conversation  to  a  tombstone. 

They  seated  themselves  on  a  low  and  broken  wall, 
more  by  reason  of  the  unseasonable  warmth,  than 
from  sociability.  An  elusive  suggestion  of  spring  was 
in  the  air.  Above  the  crenelated  line  of  ruins,  the 
sun  sent  rays  that  gladdened  the  heart.  The  moist 
earth,  that  lay  so  lightly  upon  the  many  dead,  seemed 
to  stir  in  its  wintry  rest,  as  though  dreaming  of  flow- 
ers. This  plot  of  sanctified  soil  that  had  witnessed 
strange  and  stirring  scenes,  bloodshed  and  the  stormy 
passions  of  men,  seemed  now  content  to  watch  and 
wait  in  obedience  to  some  Divine  command.  Far  be- 
low, but  hidden  from  sight  by  the  Cathedral  wall, 
lay  the  sea,  an  emblem  of  the  world's  unrest;  but 
on  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  in  God's  acre,  there  was 
peace. 

The  quiet  and  pensive  serenity  unconsciously  at- 
tuned the  spirits  of  Toddie  and  Devina  to  subjects 
unconnected  with  the  avowed  object  of  their  meeting. 

"  A  place  like  this  makes  ye  think,"  said  Devina, 
her  eyes  on  a  family  vault. 

"It  does  that,"  assented  Toddie.  "I  wish  Bob 
was  here." 

"  They  was  all  like  us  once,"  she  continued,  waving 
her  umbrella  at  the  tombstones.  "  And  no'  sae  lang 

95 


TODDIE 

syne  maybe  —  full  o'  the  lust  o'  life  —  eatin'  and 
drinkin'  and  thinkin'  o'  their  clothes.  And  where  are 
they  now?  I  ask  ye  where?  " 

Her  listener,  secretly  uncomfortable,  made  haste  to 
disclaim  all  responsibility.  But  Devina  scarcely 
heard  him.  For  some  time  she  remained  plunged  in 
gloomy  thought,  then  suddenly  fixing  Toddie  with  a 
disconcerting  and  prophetic  eye,  said  solemnly :  "  Me 
and  you  will  be  like  them  soon." 

"  Hoots,  no  I "  ejaculated  Toddie  with  heat.  "  Not 
for  a  matter  o'  thirty,  or  maybe  forty  year." 

"  What 's  that  compared  wi'  eternity  ?  See  that 
auld  tombstone?  Nae  doot  it  covers  a  man,  perhaps 
a  caddie  like  you.  And  now  —  ye  canna  even  read  his 
name." 

"  He  's  not  carin',"  cried  Toddie  sturdily.  "  Nae 
doot  he's  better  off  where  he  is.  Maybe  he  had  a 
wife,  poor  chap." 

"  What 's  that  to  do  wi'  it?  " 

"  Everythin'.     D'  ye  mind  Abraham's  bosom?  " 

She  assented  suspiciously. 

"  Weel,  ye  '11  not  deny  Lazarus  had  a  bad  time  o' 
it.  What  wi'  sores,  and  one  thing  and  anither,  he 
couldna  have  had  worse  if  he  'd  been  born  a  caddie. 
Weel,  does  he  fash  himself  over  a  silly  tombstone 
now?  No'  likely!  The  Lorrd  has  made  it  up  to 
him  —  though  I  'm  no'  keen  on  onybody's  bosom  ma- 
self,"  he  added  truthfully. 

96 


TODDIE 

Devina  listened,  divided  between  disapproval  and 
bewilderment. 

"  Aye,"  went  on  Toddie  more  cheerfully,  "  I  may 
be  wrong,  but  it 's  the  way  I  think.  It 's  like  the 
golf.  It 's  what  I  tell  the  Maj  or.  If  ye  're  off  yer 
game  the  one  day,  ye  're  on  it  the  next.  Here !  I  '11 
tell  ye  a  story.  D'  ye  mind  Jock  McClusky  —  him 
we  used  to  call  pimple-face?  I  see  ye  don't.  Weel, 
that  man  was  like  Job,  he  lost  every  mortal  thing  he 
had — 'except  his  wife.  She  had  jaundice  wi'  just 
awful  complications,  but,  hoots,  naethin'  could  kill 
the  woman.  McClusky  bore  it  like  a  man  —  better 
nor  Job ;  ye  didna  find  him  sittin'  idle  on  a  dungheap ; 
he  just  hoed  turnips.  '  Toddie,'  says  he,  '  the  Lorrd 
will  make  it  up  to  me.'  '  In  Heaven  ?  '  says  I.  '  No,' 
says  he,  '  on  earth.'  We  all  thought  he  was  daft  wi' 
grief.  But  one  day  there  comes  a  man  who  says  to 
him :  *  Are  you  Jock  McClusky  ?  '  '  That 's  me,' 
says  he.  *  Weel,'  says  the  man,  '  yer  brither  Tarn 
has  died  in  America  and  left  ye  twa  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds.'  '  That 's  a  tidy  bit  o'  money,'  says 
McClusky,  *  if  ye  just  take  a  seat  till  I  've  finished 
thae  turnips  I  '11  speak  to  ye.'  Ye  see,  Devina,  he 
never  kenned  his  brither  was  alive  at  all,  but  he  had 
faith  in  the  Lorrd.  Is  that  no'  a  bonnie  story?  " 

"  It 's  no'  to  ma  taste,"  answered  Devina  sourly. 

This  reception  not  encouraging  further  anecdote, 
Toddie  relapsed  into  a  depressed  silence.  He  was 
7  97 


TODDIE 

wondering  what  on  earth  had  induced  him  to  waste 
his  Sabbath  when  she  spoke  again. 

"  He  's  over  there." 

"  Who?  "  cried  Toddie  with  a  start.  But  when  he 
had  gazed  in  the  direction  indicated  by  her  forefinger, 
his  equanimity  returned,  for  not  a  soul  was  to  be 
seen. 

"  Father."  Devina  made  this  announcement  in  the 
gloomy  yet  important  tones  with  which  the  Scottish 
lower  orders  are  in  the  habit  of  referring  to  their 
departed.  "  We  buried  him  under  yon  wall.  It 's 
real  bonnie;  the  snowdrops  will  be  comin'  up  soon. 
Poor  father  — "  She  sighed.  "  He  was  aye  hot 
and  impatient  in  the  flesh,  but  he 's  cold  enough 
now." 

"  I  wouldna  make  too  sure  o'  that,"  said  Toddie 
cautiously. 

"What  d'ye  mean?" 

"  Ye  were  lucky  to  find  yer  father's  corp,"  he  con- 
tinued hastily.  "  They  never  found  mine." 

"  Dearie  me,  is  that  so?  " 

"  It 's  a  fact.  Mither  was  awful  disappointed,  I 
hear." 

Devina's  eyes  softened. 

"  The  sea 's  bound  to  give  him  back  to  her." 

"  Umph,  maybe.  But  seein'  that  she  's  been  dead 
a  matter  o'  thirty  years,  she  canna  be  expected  to  take 
much  interest  in  the  funeral." 

98 


TODDIE 

For  a  short  time  neither  spoke.  Devina,  whose 
brows  were  puckered,  stole  a  glance  at  her  compan- 
ion, but  Toddie  was  innocently  occupied  in  examining 
a  thumb  nail. 

"  Why  did  ye  say  '  maybe  '?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Weel,  ye  never  can  tell  what  the  sea  will  be  after. 
Whiles  it 's  laughin'  and  dimplin'  like  —  like  a  wee 
baby,  and  whiles  it  just  roars  at  ye  like  a  woman  in 
drink.  Na,  na,  I  wouldna  trust  it  to  give  onythin' 
back." 

"  But  —  the  Lorrd  's  promised  it." 

"  Ye  mean  when  there  will  be  nae  mair  sea?  " 

"  Aye." 

"  And  ye  think  the  man  will  just  be  left  high  and 
dry?  " 

Her  brows  gathered  ominously. 

"  That 's  no  way  to  talk  o'  the  wonders  o'  the 
Lorrd.  I  fear  me  ye  're  irreleegious." 

Toddie  avoided  her  eye. 

"  Who  d'  ye  sit  under?  "  she  said  sternly. 

No  answer. 

"  D'  ye  never  go  to  Kirk  at  all?  "  she  cried  aghast. 

He  held  up  a  protesting  hand.  To  his  surprise 
and  even  consternation,  this  woman's  good  opinion 
suddenly  struck  him  as  worth  possessing. 

"  I  will  not  deceive  ye,"  he  said  earnestly,  .and 
Devina,  marking  him  closely,  was  impressed  with  his 
air  of  ingenuous  veracity.  "  I  will  not  deceive  ye. 

99 


TODDIE 

I  dinna  trouble  the  meenister  reg'lar  like,  but  I  'm  not 
what  ye  would  call  irreleegious.  Na,  na;  I  do  ma 
best.  I  thank  the  Lorrd  for  all  His  goodness,  the 
bonnie  sunshine,  like  the  day ;  and  the  gale  we  had 
last  week.  For  His  mercies  too,  Bob  and  the  Major, 
and  His  havin'  preserved  me  a  bachelor." 

"What  next!"  she  ejaculated. 

"  Aye,"  cried  Toddie  warmly.  "  Ye  may  scoff. 
But  you  're  a  sort  o'  female  bachelor  yourself.  And 
more  nor  that.  Here !  you  're  great  on  Scripture, 
what  says  the  Apostle  Paul  aboot  bachelors  ?  He  aye 
like  them  fine.  He  was  one  himself.  Ye  see,  I  ken 
ma  Bible." 

To  this  outburst  Devina  found  no  answer,  but  a 
feeling  of  having  been  knocked  down  with  her  own 
weapon  lent  indignation  to  her  eye. 

Toddie,  pausing  in  a  flush  of  triumph,  wiped  his 
face  on  his  coat  sleeve.  An  exclamation  of  strong 
disapprobation  caused  him  to  start. 

"Where's  your  handkerchief?"  questioned  De- 
vina. 

"  I  havena  got  one,"  he  answered  sulkily. 

"  D'  ye  always  do  that?  " 

"  N-a,  not  always." 

"What  then?" 

He  ventured  another  look  at  her.  She  was  sitting 
at  some  little  distance  from  him,  bolt  upright.  The 
last  rays  of  the  sun  shone  full  upon  her  face,  lending 

100 


TODDIE 

to  it  an  indescribably  prevailing  and  even  compelling 
quality.  Recognizing  this,  Toddie's  heart  sank. 

"  Aweel,"  he  muttered  awkwardly,  picking  the  plas- 
ter out  of  the  interstices  in  the  wall,  "  there  's  some 
days  when  ma  coat  does  the  job  fine;  and  there's 
ithers  when  I  'm  that  warm  I  'm  just  forced  to  take 
to  the  flags.  Aye,"  he  continued,  answering  the  in- 
terrogation in  her  eye,  "  the  golf  flags." 

"  And  what  do  the  gentlemen  say  to  that?  " 

Toddie  pondered.  "  Aweel,"  he  said  at  length, 
with  a  reminiscent  smile,  "  the  ither  day  —  Friday  it 
was  —  we  'd  finished  the  match  and  I  was  polishin'  up 
the  flag,  when  Mr.  Gibb  says  to  me :  —  a  very  pleas- 
ant gentleman  is  Mr.  Gibb,  he  ay  has  his  joke. 
'  Toddie,'  says  he,  *  where  's  your  handkerchief?  '  '  I 
never  had  one,'  says  I.  *  Hoots,  man ! '  says  he, 
'  ye  've  eighteen.'  " 

Before  Devina  could  vent  her  feelings,  the  sound 
of  approaching  footsteps  caused  them  both  to  look 
anxiously  over  their  shoulders.  Strolling  towards 
them  came  a  man  whom  Toddie  recognized  as  Herd. 
As  he  neared  them  his  habitual  expression  of  bland 
self-complacency  gave  place  to  one  of  incredulous 
amazement. 

"  Toddie  1 "  he  ejaculated. 

"  Just  me,"  grunted  Toddie. 

Herd's  eyes,  more  and  more  amazed,  wandered  from 
Toddie  to  Devina,  and  back  again  to  Toddie,  then 

101 


TODDIE 

gradually  a  broad  and  meaning  smile  made  its  ap- 
pearance. 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  disturb  ye,"  he  began  with  feigned 
gravity.  But  the  effort  was  apparently  beyond  him, 
for,  breaking  off,  he  exploded  into  a  shameless  guf- 
faw, and  hastened  along  the  path. 

"  Eediot ! "  shot  forth  Devina,  gazing  with  pro- 
found contempt  at  his  retreating  form.  "  He  '11  be 
a  friend  o'  yours,"  she  added  scathingly. 

Toddie  shook  an  emphatic  head. 

"  I  canna  bear  the  man.  He  just  lives  on  a  dog. 
He  's  queer  at  times,  but  I  've  never  seen  him  as  bad 
as  this.  I  wonder  what  like  's  the  matter  wi'  him." 

Devina  flashed  a  suspicious  glance,  but  her  com- 
panion's open  countenance  revealed  only  a  simple- 
minded  astonishment. 

"  Ye  see,"  he  continued,  "  Herd's  notions  o'  hon- 
esty are  not  easy  accounted  for,  so  it 's  kind  .o'  nat- 
ural that  his  idea  o'  a  joke  should  be  beyond  oor 
comprehension  too.  But,  ma  conscience,  it  was  a 
sair  misfortune  his  catchin'  us  thegither." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  but  despite  the  firmness  of  her 
voice,  her  mind  misgave  her. 

"  Because,"  he  explained  earnestly,  gazing  full  in 
her  face  and  wagging  a  stumpy  forefinger,  "  Herd  's 
an  awful  one  at  the  talkin'.  It  '11  be  all  over  St.  An- 
drews the  morn.  Me  and  you  workin'  thegither  — 
partners,  ye  may  say.  I  hope  to  goodness  it  doesna 

102 


TODDIE 

get  to  the  Major's  ears,  for  that  would  spoil  our 
chance.  But  one  grand  thing  is  the  Major  will  not 
listen  to  silly  gossip.  Have  I  not  noticed  it  many  's 
the  time?  '  Your  shot,'  says  he,  in  that  quiet  voice  o' 
his  and  the  ither  gentleman  has  to  shut  up.  Na,  na, 
ye  never  hear  him  say  onything  aboot  onybody  but 
what 's  kind.  And  more  — "  he  added,  bringing  an 
emphatic  fist  down  upon  the  wall,  "  he  wouldna  be- 
lieve I  was  with  you,  he  's  that  slow  to  think  ill  o* 
folk." 


108 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  tacit  understanding  that  existed  between 
the  conspirators  was  that,  although  a  place  and 
hour  of  meeting  for  the  next  interview  was  decided 
upon  each  time  before  they  parted,  yet  should  one 
of  them  lack  matter  of  importance  to  communicate, 
he  or  she  would  be  excused  from  keeping  the  ap- 
pointment. 

Toddie  and  Devina  had  been  remarkably  unani- 
mous upon  this  point. 

"  If  I  dinna  see  ye,"  Toddie  had  remarked,  "  I  '11 
ken  fine  ye  have  naething  to  say.  It  will  be  an  awful 
relief." 

"  Aye,"  Devina  had  assented  with  unusual  alacrity, 
"  and  if  I  'm  there  and  you  dinna  come,  I  '11  go  a  walk 
by  maself.  It  '11  be  something  to  look  forward  to." 

"  That 's  it,"  Toddie  had  ejaculated  with  hearty 
approval.  "  That  way  we  '11  see  nae  mair  of  each 
ither  than  we  can  help.  Ma  worrd ! "  he  came  near 
to  beaming  upon  her — "You  and  me  understands 
each  ither  fine.  Good  day." 

At  the  club  steps  one  morning  about  lunch-time  a 
conversation  took  place  between  Dale  and  his  satel- 
lite. 

104. 


TODDIE 

"  Can't  carry  for  me  this  afternoon !  "  exclaimed 
the  astonished  Maj  or.  "  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  Major,"  explained  Toddie  with  an 
air  of  chastened  melancholy,  "  it 's  no'  to  pleesure  ma- 
self.  Na,  na,  if  I  was  to  think  o'  that,  I  'd  rather 
be  oot  on  the  links  wi'  you,  for  ye  're  sure  to  beat  him 
again  easy.  But — "  and  he  wagged  a  dismal  head, 
"  I  have  what  ye  may  call  a  duty  to  perform." 

Dale  looked  attentively  at  his  caddie.  Something 
in  the  pious  resignation  of  Toddie's  features,  some- 
thing solemn  and  suggestive  of  sorrow,  induced  his 
master  to  sink  his  voice  to  hushed  and  sympathetic 
comprehension. 

"  I  see,  Toddie.  No  need  to  say  more.  Of  course 
I  '11  excuse  you."  He  was  turning  away,  when, 
prompted  by  curiosity,  he  inquired :  "  At  what  hour 
does  it  take  place?  " 

"  Three  o'clock,"  mumbled  Toddie  unwillingly. 

"  In  the  Cathedral  grounds,  I  suppose." 

Genuinely  alarmed  now,  the  conspirator  looked 
up  at  his  master.  Could  anything  be  hid  from  one 
so  uncannily  omniscient? 

"  Na,"  he  faltered,  "  not  this  time." 

"  Where  then?  "  pursued  Dale,  considerably  mys- 
tified. 

"  Doon  at  the  harbor.  Just  ootside  the  Bell  Rock 
Inn,  sir." 

"What!     In  the  street?     Nonsense!" 
105 


TODDIE 

"  Na,  it 's  no  nonsense.  That 's  the  place  right 
enough.  I  'm  to  be  there  the  day  —  weather  per- 
mittin'." 

"  But  —  I  don't  understand.  You  can't  bury 
him  there." 

The  golf -bag  nearly  dropped  from  Toddie's  arm. 

"  Bury!     Bury,  Major?  " 

"  Of  course;  is  n't  it  a  funeral?  " 

"  Gude  sakes,  no !  It 's  a  sort  o'  unpleasant  ap- 
pointment I  just  canna  get  oot  of.  Funeral  1  Ma 
conscience!  That  must  be  a  joke."  And  suddenly 
throwing  back  his  head,  and  distending  his  mouth  to 
its  uttermost,  Toddie  indulged  in  his  irrepressible 
chuckle. 

"  Ye  '11  excuse  me,  Maj  or,"  he  said,  sobering 
hastily  as  he  marked  the  contraction  of  his  master's 
bushy  eyebrows ;  "  I  ken  it 's  an  awful  liberty  to 
laugh  at  your  jokes,  but  I  just  canna  help  it.  The 
idea  o'  comparin'  her  tae  a  funeral  — " 

"  Who?  "  demanded  the  Major. 

Toddie  stopped  short.  The  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing nearly  betrayed  the  great  secret  lent  an  expres- 
sion of  pathetic  indecision  to  his  face. 

"  And  " —  continued  his  master  sternly,  "  what 
about  me?  Did  n't  I  engage  you  by  the  month?  " 

"  Ye  did,"  assented  Toddie,  highly  relieved  and 
speaking  with  great  earnestness,  "  and  proud  I  am  of 
it.  Oh,  never  think  I  'm  not  grateful,  sir.  I  '11  never 

106 


TODDIE 

do  it  again  if  I  can  help  it.  And  I  '11  no'  see  you  a 
loser,  for  I  've  fixed  it  up  with  Murdoch  to  carry  for 
ye.  Oh,  a  mere  matter  o'  eighteenpence.  If  he 
doesna  give  ye  full  satisfaction,  come  to  me.  I  've 
lectured  the  man ;  I  've  told  him  to  mind  ye  to  keep 
yer  head  doon,  and  he  's  promised  tae  hold  his  breath 
on  the  greens,  and  to  get  behind  yer  back  if  it 's  pos- 
sible. I  '11  not  deny  I  'm  anxious,  for  it 's  not  every 
one  would  suit  you,  Ma j  or.  When  you  're  put  oot 
there 's  a  glare  in  your  eyes  would  just  give  ony 
common  caddie  convulsions.  But  Murdoch 's  pre- 
pared for  the  worst :  and  I  don't  mind  tellin'  you,  sir, 
I  've  promised  him  a  penny  if  ye  win,  for  says  I  tae 
him:  'The  Major's  awful  grumpy  if  he's  doon, 
but  real  pleasant  and  friendly  when  he  's  up.'  No 
offense  to  you,  sir,  verra  natural ;  shows  a  fine  sportin' 
spirit  that  does  ye  credit,  I  'm  sure." 

Having  personally  conducted  the  start,  with  hoarse 
mutters  of  warning  to  the  substitute,  and  respectful 
entreaties  to  the  Major  to  "  go  in  and  win,"  Toddie 
found  himself  free  to  dispose  of  the  afternoon. 

"  Found  himself  free  "  is  a  misleading  expression, 
and  one  that  is  pointed  with  the  bitter  barb  of  irony ; 
for  was  not  the  hapless  Toddie  bound  to  see  the  wheels 
of  this  inevitable  appointment,  even  as  captives  in  a 
Roman  Triumph  to  the  chariot  of  their  conqueror? 

She  would  be  waiting  for  him,  the  grim,  handsome 
woman,  at  three  o'clock  precisely  —  no  hope  of  her 

107 


TODDIE 

being  late,  no  such  feminine  weakness  as  a  complacent 
unpunctuality  in  that  alarmingly  well-regulated  na- 
ture. Toddie  sighed  profoundly.  He  knew  what 
would  happen  so  well.  He  would  see  her  a  long  way 
off,  from  the  top  of  the  brae  that  led  down  to  the 
harbor,  and  at  the  sight  his  heart  would  conceal  itself 
precipitantly  in  the  Major's  boots,  and,  as  long  as  she 
was  there,  would  absolutely  refuse  to  return  to  the 
comfort  of  its  owner's  warm  and  manly  breast.  He 
would  near  her  with  slow  reluctance,  vainly  cudgel- 
ling his  brains  in  search  of  an  excuse  for  having  kept 
her  waiting  —  anticipating  the  scathing  reproach  and 
the  disapproving  glance  which  were  sure  to  find  him 
speechless,  awed,  exasperated,  yet  incomprehensibly 
spell-bound  by  the  overmastering  dominance  of  her 
presence. 

He  pondered  over  all  this  gloomily  as  he  walked 
slowly  back  to  Logic's  Lane. 

What  a  fool  he  had  been  to  allow  himself  to  be  be- 
guiled into  these  assignations.  And  yet  —  there  was 
no  denying  that  she  was  handsome.  Catch  him  doing 
it  again,  if  only  he  were  well  out  of  it  this  time.  And 
yet  —  her  eyes !  Aye,  and  that  turn  of  her  head  — 
and  the  queer  feeling  she  gave  a  man  at  times  when 
she  forgot  to  be  alarming !  Devil  take  the  woman ! 
He  kicked  an  unoffending  stone  with  the  warmth  of 
a  purely  personal  rancor.  He  would  think  about 
her  no  more.  She  was  a  sort  of  disease.  Yes,  suffi- 

108 


TODDIE 

cient  unto  the  day  was  the  evil  thereof  —  and  had  he 
not  a  blessed  half  hour  to  be  free,  and  manly,  and 
happy  ?  And  yet  —  and  yet  — .  He  frowned  por- 
tentously. 

It  was  just  as  he  came  face  to  face  with  a  linen- 
draper's  window  that  Toddie  came  to  an  abrupt  stand- 
still. What  moved  him  so  strangely?  What  de- 
prived him  almost  of  breath?  It  could  not  have  been 
the  lady  in  the  fashionable  stays  upon  whose  picture 
his  eyes  were  eagerly  riveted,  for,  truth  to  tell,  he 
did  not  even  see  her.  She  was  a  mere  coincidence  — 
a  type  or  symbol  of  the  feminine  arming  herself  for 
the  inevitable  combat;  aye,  protecting  her  heart  — 
if  she  had  one,  the  hussy!  —  with  the  very  bones  of 
whales.  But  the  innocent  Toddie  gazed  past  and  be- 
yond her,  straight  at  the  dawn  of  some  glad  possibil- 
ity, at  the  light  of  some  unexpected  and  radiant  prom- 
ise of  emancipation.  Under  this  joyous  influence  he 
gave  vent  to  a  loud  and  cheerful  guffaw.  Then,  sud- 
denly, overcome  with  shame,  for  the  passers-by  were 
betraying  unfeigned  amazement  at  the  sight  of  a 
caddie  laughing  hilariously  at  a  Parisian  corset,  he 
lurched  onwards,  muttering  to  himself  the  while. 

"  No  news !  I  've  naethin'  to  tell  her.  I  needna 
go.  That 's  a  grand  idea.  I  never  thought  o'  that. 
I'll  bide  at  hame.  Na,  I'll  take  Bob  for  a  walk. 
He  '11  be  fair  off  his  head,  the  beastie ;  aye,  wi'  sur- 
prise and  pleesure.  I  wonder  what  she  '11  do  ?  I  'm 

109 


TODDIE 

not  carin'.  Maybe  she  '11  sit  on  the  pier  and  throw 
stones  into  the  water.  But,  hoots,  a  woman  canna 
throw  straight.  Maybe  she  '11  be  expectin'  me. 
Weel,  what  if  she  does  ?  Let  her  expect  I  It 's  none 
o'  ma  business.  I  canna  make  news  oot  o'  naethin'." 

Reaching  his  home,  he  let  himself  in  and  was  en- 
thusiastically welcomed  by  Bob.  But  it  was  towards 
the  grandfather's  clock  that  his  anxious  glance  was 
directed. 

"  Quarter  to  three,"  he  soliloquized.  "  Doon, 
Bob;  doon!  She'll  just  be  leavin'  Gibson  Place.  I 
can  see  that  black  bonnet  o'  hers.  Aye,  aye,  nae 
doot  it  sets  her  off  fine.  Bob,  ma  mannie,  what  d  'ye 
say  to  a  walk?  Ah,  I  thought  it  would  pleesure  ye; 
but  no  need  to  worry  ma  trousers.  She  '11  be  in 
North  Street  now.  It  seems  a  peety  she  should  have 
that  trouble.  I  wonder  what  she  's  got  to  tell  me  ?  " 

Peeling  inexplicably  restless,  he  rose  to  his  feet, 
crossed  to  the  little  window,  gazed  at  the  blank  wall 
upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  lane  as  though  he 
fully  expected  it  to  make  up  his  vacillating  mind, 
then,  still  absorbed  in  thought,  returned  to  the  fire- 
place. 

For  a  whole  minute  he  sat  contemplating  Bob  with 
awful  intentness,  to  the  no  small  discomfiture  of  that 
sagacious  animal  who,  convinced  that  he  had  been 
discovered  in  wrong-doing,  gave  voice  to  sundry  little 
whines  of  protest  and  propitiation.  Then,  suddenly, 

110 


TODDIE 

propelled  thereto  by  some  inward  force,  his  eyes  again 
sought  the  clock. 

"Eight  minutes  now,"  he  muttered;  "I've  just 
time  —  but  no  —  I  'm  ashamed  of  ye,  Toddie.  Be 
a  man.  Can  ye  no*  keep  to  what  ye  said?  And 
yet  —  I  'm  no'  so  sure  it 's  a  sensible  plan  after  all. 
Bob,  dinna  scratch,  ye  deevil !  I  see  ye  fine.  It 's 
this  way  • —  the  woman  may  have  found  oot  some- 
thin'  verra  important.  I  ought  to  hear  it.  And 
then,  anither  thing,  it  looks  awful  like  as  I  was 
af eared  of  her.  Ma  word !  I  'm  no'  af eared  of  ony 
woman !  I  '11  let  her  see.  Then  maybe  if  I  'm  not 
there  she  '11  think  me  unceevil.  I  'd  be  sorry  for 
that,  for  after  all  the  woman 's  a  woman."  He 
sighed  deeply,  thrust  his  legs  out,  and  shook  his  head 
at  the  keen,  questioning  eyes  that  were  watching  him 
from  somewhere  about  the  altitude  of  his  knee. 

"  This  will  never  do,  Bob.  I  see  fine  ye  're  anx- 
ious. Ye  wouldna  have  yer  master  misjudged,  would 
ye?  What's  that  ye 're  say  in'?  Ye 'd  like  to  go 
to  the  harbor?  Mind  ye,  it 's  not  for  me,  I  'm  not 
carin',  but  I  'd  be  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  for  there  's 
no  denyin'  that  for  a  dog  ye  take  a  real  sensible  in- 
terest in  the  boats.  Come  on." 


Ill 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  afternoon  was  fine,  although  the  sun,  fully 
occupied  no  doubt  in  shining  upon  other  and 
more  favored  localities,  held  himself  sternly  aloof. 
But  Toddie  was  too  much  engrossed  with  his  own  af- 
fairs to  miss  the  sunshine,  and,  even  had  he  been  less 
self-centered,  it  is  open  to  argument  whether  he  would 
have  given  the  absentee  a  thought. 

St.  Andrews  is  a  child  of  the  North  —  a  child  of 
the  sea  —  cradled  on  cliffs  —  brooded  over  by 
storms  —  clad  in  sea-mists,  and  half  lights,  and  veils 
of  veering  vapor  —  gray  and  desolate  as  her  own 
naked  rocks  —  inured  to  cold  and  rough  weather  as 
the  sea-gulls  that  flit  around  her  ruined  towers,  and 
live  their  wild  free  life  on  wind-blown  surges  and 
wind-swept  sand. 

Toddie  was  a  piece  of  St.  Andrews.  Its  clean 
caller  air  had  made  him  the  man  he  was,  sound  in 
limb  and  weather-beaten  in  aspect.  Something  of 
her  air  of  reticence,  her  elemental  picturesqueness, 
her  self-respecting  sufficiency,  and  uncompromising 
independence  had  found  its  way  into  his  bluff  man- 
ner and  honest  face.  It  is  morally  certain  that  his 


TODDIE 

suspicion  of  all  strangers,  save  only  those  who  con- 
tributed directly  to  his  income,  was  derived  from  his 
surroundings.  His  primitive  idea  of  a  joke,  too, 
might  be  traced  to  the  same  source.  Could  you  im- 
agine the  Cathedral  retailing  a  good  ecclesiastical 
story  to  the  Castle  —  presumably  chuckled  along  the 
subterranean  passage  —  and  the  two  venerable  ruins, 
forgetful  of  age,  dignity  and  infirmities,  fairly  ex- 
ploding into  peals  of  jolly  laughter  —  I  say  could 
you  imagine  this,  then  you  might  imagine  Toddie 
appreciating  a  Southern  witticism. 

These  points  of  resemblance  might  be  added  to 
indefinitely.  For  example,  his  inability  to  whistle  a 
tune  correctly,  or  even  recognizably,  Toddie  owed 
to  the  town  band;  and  his  error  in  mistaking  the 
odor  of  garbage  for  ozone,  to  the  town  council. 
His  noblest  conception  of  drama  was  undoubtedly 
"  Pierrots,"  and  his  most  enlightened  and  refined 
entertainment  the  annual  fair.  Yes,  Toddie  was  ex- 
traordinarily like  St.  Andrews. 

A  person  like  a  town?  Why  not?  Nothing  more 
common.  We  have  all  of  us  been  unfortunate  enough 
to  meet  a  man  like  Glasgow,  and  a  woman  like  Dun- 
dee. You  cannot  mistake  them,  any  more  than  you 
could  mistake  a  dog  like  Skye,  or  a  pony  like  Shet- 
land. Then  again,  people  who  live  constantly  to- 
gether, grow,  we  are  told,  to  resemble  each  other. 
It  is  the  price  we  all  pay  for  propinquity.  And 
8  118 


TODDIE 

what  more  natural  than  that  Toddie,  who  had  neither 
kith  nor  kin,  wife  nor  bairn,  should  make  good  the 
omission  by  personifying  and  resembling  his  native 
town.  The  likeness  was  of  course  unconscious.  No 
one  would  have  been  more  astonished  than  he,  had 
you  drawn  his  attention  to  the  fact.  Had  you  done 
so,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  he  would  have 
thought  you  were  "  getting  at  him,"  a  form  of 
erudite  humor  too  subtle  to  be  encouraged,  too  per- 
sonal to  be  pleasant,  and  which,  therefore,  a  Scotch- 
man resents  from  the  very  bottom  of  his  solemn  and 
self-respecting  heart. 

But,  we  must  apologize;  this  is  pure  and  inde- 
fensible digression,  for  is  not  Toddie  on  his  way  to 
meet  Devina,  the  seeds  of  unimagined  love  within  his 
heart,  but  grim  anticipation  within  his  soul? 

Bob  kept  close  to  his  master.  Even  the  sound  of 
a  distant  sheep  failed  to  lure  him  away.  There  ex- 
ists in  animals,  and  more  especially  in  dogs,  a  loving 
and  intuitive  instinct,  surpassing  that  of  women, 
which  enables  them  to  read  the  secret  thoughts  of 
those  to  whom  they  attach  themselves.  It  is  an  in- 
strument of  much  delicacy,  subtle  as  their  sense  of 
smell.  Like  an  emotional  plummet,  it  sounds  the 
deeps  of  mental  sensation,  discovering  strange  cur- 
rents, submerged  rocks,  and  dangerous  shoals.  Bob 
was  making  use  of  it  now.  His  master's  visible  pre- 
occupation, unseeing  eyes,  portentous  frown  and 


TODDIE 

compressed  lips  had  given  him  a  clue  which  his  own 
genius  for  psychological  investigation  was  pursuing 
to  its  furthest  limits. 

Bob  scented  danger.  An  invisible  danger,  that 
did  not  even  growl,  was  much  to  be  dreaded.  It 
got  on  your  nerves,  and  raised  your  back  hair.  Im- 
possible to  tell  when,  or  in  what  form,  it  would  at- 
tack you.  You  simply  were  forced  to  wait.  Inac- 
tion under  such  circumstances  becomes  an  ordeal. 
Danger?  Danger  to  whom?  Presumably  to  Tod- 
die.  For  himself,  Bob  did  not  care.  Let  peril  take 
the  form  of  the  largest  and  most  ferocious  dog  that 
canine  imagination  could  conceive,  Bob  would  have 
welcomed  it  with  defiance.  But  where  Toddie  was 
concerned  it  was  a  very  different  matter.  With  his 
nose  glued  faithfully  to  his  master's  heels,  and  his 
remnant  of  a  tail  carried  threateningly,  Bob  fol- 
lowed his  human  divinity  as  he  would  have  followed 
him  unhesitatingly  into  the  very  forefront  of  battle. 

Together,  but  in  silent  Indian  file,  the  friends 
reached  the  top  of  the  hill  that  commanded  the  har- 
bor. The  sea  lay  outstretched  beneath  them,  ex- 
traordinarily calm  —  here  a  dull  and  oily  expanse 
—  there  a  glitter  as  of  naked  steel ;  dotted  at  far  in- 
tervals with  the  sails  of  fishing  boats.  Nearer  still 
could  be  seen  jagged  reefs  exposed  to  sight  by  an 
unusually  low  tide,  black  and  cruel,  with  a  lazy  wash 
of  surf  whitening  their  flanks.  Still  nearer,  where 

115 


TODDIE 

the  steep  descending  path  joined  the  quay-side,  rose 
the  Bell  Rock  Inn,  a  structure  with  no  pretensions 
to  beauty,  but  of  a  solid,  durable  and  hospitable  as- 
pect, as  became  a  building  that  dispensed  whisky 
and  defied  the  storms  of  winter.  At  the  corner, 
where  the  Inn  abutted  upon  the  highway,  stood  a 
woman. 

There  she  was!  Toddie's  heart  leapt,  then  sank. 
He  felt  ungenerously  inclined  to  growl  "  I  told  ye 
so,"  and  to  lay  the  blame  entirely  on  Bob,  who,  as  the 
reader  will  remember,  had  insisted  upon  the  harbor 
as  the  objective  of  their  walk.  Repressing  this  in- 
clination, Toddie  tried  to  face  the  inevitable,  but 
his  courage  oozed  away,  his  pace  relaxed,  his  nerv- 
ousness increased.  By  her  attitude  he  saw  plainly 
that  she  had  caught  sight  of  him,  otherwise  it  is 
more  than  probable  that  he  and  Bob  would  have 
turned  tail  and  slunk  off  in  an  entirely  different 
direction.  Again  he  forced  his  eyes  to  encounter 
her.  That  solitary  black  figure  seemed  to  be  the  one 
important  feature  in  the  landscape.  It  dwarfed 
everything.  In  it  were  suggested  the  ominous  calm 
of  the  sea,  the  sunless  gloom  of  the  land,  the  dis- 
quieting sense  of  vague  yet  depressing  expectancy 
that  brooded  over  all  things.  More  than  that,  it  had 
for  Toddie  all  the  fascination,  the  attraction,  and  the 
terror  of  the  unknown.  Within  it  might  be  dark  and 
gathering  storms  more  to  be  dreaded  than  the  anger 

116 


TODDIE 

of  the  ocean,  flashes  of  wrath  more  to  be  avoided  than 
the  lightning.  As  he  looked  and  quaked  he  felt  a  cold 
thrill  run  up  and  down  his  sturdy  little  backbone. 

What  would  she  say  when  she  found  out  that  he 
was  there  under  false  pretenses?  That  he  had  no 
news?  Her  high  moral  nature  was  incapable  of  de- 
ception, incapable  also  of  forgiving  deception  in 
others.  Would  she  resort  to  violence?  Strange  to 
say,  at  that  possibility  his  courage  returned,  and 
jerking  his  head  like  one  who  recognizes  that  there 
can  now  be  no  turning  back,  he  advanced  to  the  en- 
counter. 

"  Good  day,"  he  cried  defiantly,  while  still  at  a 
distance. 

This  was  a  master-stroke  —  in  active  hostilities  it 
is  half  the  battle  to  strike  first. 

"  Good  day,"  she  answered. 

Screwing  up  his  courage,  he  stared  her  straight 
in  the  face. 

"  Dang  it !  I  '11  let  her  see  who  I  am,"  he  thought 
desperately,  as  if  indeed  there  could  be  any  reasona- 
ble doubt  about  the  matter.  His  valor  was  of  that 
foolhardy  description  inspired  by  fear.  Yet,  such 
as  it  was,  it  not  only  amazed,  but  filled  him  with  a 
glow  of  self -admiration  that  was  singularly  comfort- 
ing. 

But,  as  he  glared,  he  experienced  the  shock  of  a 
surprise.  For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  their 

117 


TODDIE 

acquaintance  Devina  avoided  his  eyes.  More  than 
that,  she  seemed  ill  at  ease.  A  warm  flush,  singularly 
heightening  to  the  dark  and  stern  character  of  her 
beauty,  spread  over  the  clear  surface  of  her  cheeks. 
And  —  if  it  does  not  sound  preposterous  to  mention 
such  irresolute  adjectives  in  connection  with  Devina 
—  she  appeared  to  be  not  only  nervous,  but  timid. 

Like  snow  before  the  sun  Toddie's  antagonism 
evaporated.  In  its  place  were  to  be  read  amazement, 
admiration,  and  a  relief  that  would  not  be  concealed. 
For  a  moment  he  gaped  at  her  helplessly,  possessed 
by  the  surprise  and  pleasure  of  it;  then,  all  at  once, 
remembering  that  she  was  a  woman,  he  pulled  himself 
together. 

"  I  'm  late,"  he  announced  with  a  fine  assumption 
of  indifference,  calculated  to  let  her  see  that  whatever 
her  sentiments,  he  cared  not  a  jot. 

"  No,"  she  murmured,  "  naethin'  to  speak  aboot." 
And  again  he  was  awed  by  the  soft,  deep  inflections 
of  her  rich  voice. 

Was  this  actually  Devina!  Amazement  grew  so 
intense  as  to  border  upon  incredulity.  But  there 
was  no  mistaking  her  identity.  Even  Bob  had  rec- 
ognized her,  and  far  from  considering  her  the  danger 
he  had  been  led  to  expect,  was  snuffing  with  affec- 
tionate interest  at  her  skirt  as  if  the  odor  was  dis- 
tinctly agreeable  to  his  taste. 

Together  they  stood  in  the  windless  gray  of  the 
118 


TODDIE 

afternoon  —  just  a  speechless  little  caddie,  thick-set, 
commonplace,  but  thrilling  with  emotions  that 
seemed  to  have  come  straight  from  heaven,  and  a  tall, 
shapely  woman  in  black,  with  downcast  eyes  and  a 
tinge  of  tell-tale  rose  upon  her  cheeks. 

"  I  canna  think  why  I  came,"  she  said,  and  with 
an  effort  her  eyes  met  his.  Within  their  black  depths 
Toddie  read  something  unexpectedly  wistful  that 
roused  every  ounce  of  gallantry  that  had  slumbered 
undisturbed  in  his  breast  for  forty  years. 

"  Nae  doot  ye  had  yer  reasons,"  he  said  with  re- 
spectful deference,  and  no  courtier  could  have  said 
it  better. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No,"  she  dissented,  and 
neither  he  nor  she  gauged  the  naive  significance  of 
the  denial.  "  I  had  nae  reasons."  She  paused,  then 
looking  towards  the  sea,  and  speaking  hurriedly: 
"  I  have  naethin'  to  tell  ye.  I  needna  have  come  at 
all.  I  didna  mean  to  come,  but  —  but  —  here  I  am." 

The  termination  was  abrupt  and  defiant  —  a  touch 
of  her  old  self. 

"  That 's  awful  like  me ! "  cried  Toddie,  much  in- 
terested. 

She  looked  at  him  swiftly.  Was  she  angry?  But 
no,  her  eyes  were  more  wondering  and  troubled  than 
indignant. 

"  I  Jve  no  news  eether,"  he  continued,  sinking  his 
voice  confidentially.  "  The  Major  has  had  nae  time 

119 


TODDIE 

for  nonsense.  Golf  's  a  grand  thing  for  keepin'  a 
man  oot  o'  mischief.  At  first  —  I  '11  no'  deceive  ye 
- —  I  thought  of  takin'  Bob  for  a  run.  Not  comin' 
near  ye,  ye  understand.  But  somehow  or  ither, — 
it  beats  me  —  what  wi'  lookin'  at  the  clock,  and  what 
wi'  thinkin'  of  you,  I  —  I  'm  here,  too  1 " 

So  engagingly  impressive  was  his  manner,  so 
frank  and  ingenuous  his  confession,  so  entirely  and 
delightfully  did  he  ignore  the  real  factor  in  the  case, 
that  as  he  stood  before  her  with  one  homy  hand 
amicably  outstretched,  he  would  have  disarmed  a 
tigress.  And  Devina  was  no  tigress,  but  a  woman 
profoundly  troubled,  listening  with  reluctance  and 
dismay  to  the  voice  of  conflicting  emotions. 

"  It 's  queer,  is  it  no'  ?  "  commented  Toddie.  "  It 's 
what  the  Major  would  call  a  coincidence." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Weel,  1 5m  no  verra  sure  maself ,  but  it 's  a  sort 
o'  fluke  —  a  thing  ye  canna  take  the  credit  of  — 
like  holin'  oot  in  one,  ye  understand?  " 

She  assented  doubtfully. 

"  And  now,"  he  continued  more  cheerfully,  "  what 
will  we  do  next?  " 

"  I  'm  goin*  home." 

"  Ye  canna  mean  it !  " 

"  I  've  been  here  long  enough." 

"  But  —  you  've  only  just  come ! " 

"  It  was  daft  of  me." 

120 


TODDIE 

"  Na,  na,  dinna  say  that.  It  was  real  sensible 
and  —  and  friendly."  He  broke  off,  astonished  to 
hear  these  sentiments  issuing  from  his  own  lips ;  then, 
all  power  of  self-criticism  swamped  in  the  rush  of 
his  eagerness  to  keep  her :  "  Here !  what  the  deevil 
does  it  matter  what  we  talk  aboot  I  If  ye  like  I  '11 
no'  talk  at  all." 

A  faint  smile  hovered  round  the  corners  of  her 
mouth. 

"  There  's  no  call  to  swear,"  she  said  demurely  — 
but  her  eyes  still  twinkled. 

"  Ah !  "  chuckled  Toddie  much  relieved.  "  That 's 
right.  Smile  away.  I  like  fine  to  see  it.  I  '11  tell 
ye  what  I  '11  do  —  I  '11  take  ye  for  a  walk." 

Had  he  been  proposing  to  treat  her  to  the  Dundee 
pantomime  Toddie  could  not  have  made  the  offer 
with  a  more  prodigal  and  "  damn-the-expense  "  air. 
From  Devina's  expression,  however,  it  could  not  be 
inferred  that  the  unusual  pleasure  commended  itself 
to  her.  She  looked  into  his  eager  and  smiling  face 
with  extreme  doubt,  with  a  hesitation  so  long  and 
troubled  as  almost  to  appear  distress. 

"  Weel,"  said  Toddie  encouragingly,  "  are  ye  for 
comin'  ?  " 

"What's  the  good  of  walkin'?"  she  objected, 
wavering. 

For  a  moment  he  scratched  his  head  then,  seized 
with  a  bright  idea,  cried :  "  It 's  good  for  the  legs. 


TODDIE 

No'  that  mine  needs  it,  for  they  're  always  walkin' ; 
but,  what  wi'  sittin'  all  day  in  a  chair,  yours  must  be 
awful  soft.  Oh,  no  offense,  ye  needna  jump ;  maybe  I 
shouldna  have  taken  the  liberty  o'  mentioning  them 
at  all,  but  I  'm  no'  used  to  suitin'  ma  talk  to  leddies, 
and  forby  ye  canna  deny  ye  have  them." 

"  I  dinna  wish  to  deny  it,"  she  said  loftily,  "  but 
if  ye  canna  suit  yer  talk  to  me  I  '11  just  go  home." 

"  Ka,  na ;  I  didna  mean  that  at  all.  I  said  I  wasna 
used  to  it,  but  I  can  try.  A  man  can  dae  nae  mair. 
Just  you  say  what  ye  like  best  to  talk  aboot,  and  if 
I  says  onythin'  onsuitable,  just  you  give  me  a  dig 
in  the  ribs.  D'ye  see?  That  way  we '11  get  on  fine." 

So  earnest  was  he,  so  visibly  anxious  to  please, 
that  Devina  thawed  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  Umph,"  she  commented,  then  with  an  air  of  in- 
difference :  "  Which  way  will  we  go  ?  " 

"  Doon  by  the  rocks,"  he  suggested.  "  Naebody 
will  think  o'  lookin'  for  us  there." 

Without  further  talk  they  set  out,  side  by  side. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DEVINA'S  nervousness  and  Toddie's  amaze- 
ment thereat  having  worn  off,  the  friends  re- 
laxed into  something  not  far  different  from  their 
former  strained  relationship.  That  she  should  be  out 
walking  with  a  man,  with  no  visible  excuse,  save  in- 
deed the  questionable  pleasure  she  experienced  in  his 
society,  appeared  to  Devina  a  weakness  worthy  of 
the  severest  condemnation.  It  put  her  hopelessly  in 
the  wrong.  It  rankled.  It  caused  her  to  fume  in- 
wardly. Had  she  not  that  very  morning  spoken 
scathingly  to  Jessie  concerning  plumbers  and  the 
offense  of  accompanying  them  in  their  evening  con- 
stitutionals? And  here  was  she,  Devina,  actually 
walking  with  a  caddie.  Her  upright,  self-respecting 
nature  winced  at  this  culpable  backsliding  from  the 
solitary  path  of  virtue,  at  the  hypocrisy  that  could 
openly  denounce  a  course  of  conduct  in  others  which 
she  herself  practised  blushingly  in  secret.  Accord- 
ing to  her  rigid  code  of  morality  be  he  caddie  or 
plumber,  a  man  was  a  man  for  a'  that,  and  unto  no 
woman  worthy  of  the  name  was  it  permitted  to  de- 

123 


TODDIE 

mean  herself  by  encouraging  his  existence,  save  in- 
deed in  exceptional  cases,  such  as  the  transaction 
of  lawful  conspiracy.  To  discover  herself  acting 
contrary  to  these  principles,  and  to  know  Toddie  for 
the  cause,  forced  her  back  upon  the  old  forbidding 
demeanor  singularly  damping  to  the  scarce-fledged 
ardor  of  her  companion. 

He,  poor  fellow,  was  also  suffering  from  a  bit  of 
reaction.  As  he  lurched  along  by  her  side,  the 
crown  of  his  battered  cap  upon  the  level  with  her 
shoulder,  essaying  to  keep  step  with  her  long  and 
masculine  strides,  Toddie  cast  from  time  to  time  a 
nervous  look  up  into  her  face.  What  he  saw  there 
by  no  means  reassured  him.  The  newborn  charm 
he  experienced  in  her  society  had  fled  with  this  re- 
turn to  hostile  and  monosyllabic  tactics.  She  com- 
pelled him  to  call  to  mind  the  Major's  allusion  to 
the  funeral.  It  seemed  dismally  appropriate  now. 
Indeed  Toddie  could  mention  several  funerals  that 
had  been  festive  in  comparison.  In  a  word  she  forced 
him  to  remember  that  she  was  a  woman  —  a  fact  he 
had  almost  lost  sight  of  —  and  what  could  be  more 
alarming  and  distasteful  to  a  bachelor  of  Toddie's 
time-honored  prejudices? 

On  their  way  to  the  rocks  they  passed  the  old 
cockle  gatherer.  She  was  groping  in  a  little  pool 
that  lay  imprisoned  between  two  boulders.  As  she 
recognized  Toddie  she  looked  from  him  to  his  com- 

124, 


TODDIE 

panion,  then  smiled  —  a  smile  of  much  feminine  sub- 
tlety. 

"What  did  I  tell  ye?"  she  called  out  trium- 
phantly, jerking  her  wisp  of  gray  hair  out  of  her 
eyes. 

Quitting  Devina's  side,  Toddie  hastily  turned  back. 

"  I  see  fine  what  ye  're  thinkin',"  he  said  in  a  gruff 
indignant  voice,  "  but  ye  're  wrong." 

"  Who  's  that  ?  "  questioned  Devina,  when  he  re- 
joined  her. 

"  Just  a  daft  auld  wife,"  responded  Toddie,  still 
much  upset. 

"  And  what  would  she  be  sayin'  to  you?  " 

"  Oh,  just  nonsense." 

"  Aye,  but  what  was  it?  What 's  that  she  said  she 
told  ye  before?  " 

Thus  cornered,  Toddie  growled  inarticulately. 
Then,  becoming  aware  of  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him, 
and  full  of  feminine  curiosity,  he  added  defensively: 
"  I  canna  repeat  it." 

She  tossed  her  head  and  looked  away. 

For  some  time  they  walked  on  in  silence.  Having 
traversed  a  space  of  level  sand,  they  at  length  reached 
the  rocks.  These  ridges  and  reefs,  deeply  concealed 
by  water  at  high  tide,  were  now  a  chaos  of  boulders 
of  very  unequal  size,  and  densely  covered  for  the 
most  part  with  a  matted  garment  of  black  and  glis- 
tening weed.  Here,  the  naked  rock  peeped  through 

125 


TODDIE 

—  there,  colonies  of  shell-fish  adhered  to  the  sides 
and  crests,  so  small,  innumerable,  and  close  that  they 
had  the  appearance  of  patches  of  black  velvet.  Be- 
tween these  boulders  lay  pools  fringed  with  delicate 
and  feathery  growths,  within  whose  becalmed  and 
translucent  depths  the  gazer  saw  at  will  his  own 
face  and  the  mirror  sky,  or  a  submerged  and  min- 
iature world.  Sand  and  shells,  the  gleam  of  wet 
pebbles,  evidences  of  humble  life  made  beautiful  with 
vivid  color  intensified  by  the  motionless  element,  all 
lent  to  these  tiny  rock-gardens  a  charm  as  rare  as  it 
was  unexpected.  As  the  shadows  of  Toddie  and  De- 
vina  fell  upon  their  hiding-places,  little  crabs  scurried 
away  in  sudden  alarm,  disappearing  beneath  the 
crystal-like  substance  that  seemed  less  a  liquid  than  a 
denser  atmosphere,  so  pure  was  it,  so  suggestive  of 
being  renewed  and  renovated  daily  by  the  strong 
salt  flood  of  the  sea. 

The  footing  upon  this  playground  of  the  waves 
was  precarious  in  the  extreme.  It  necessitated  the 
agility  of  an  acrobat  and  the  balance  of  a  tight- 
rope dancer.  Bob,  shivering  from  the  effects  of  more 
than  one  involuntary  bath,  made  frequent  appeals 
for  help.  Indeed  he  neglected  no  means  within  his 
power  to  point  out  to  his  companions  that,  as  far  as 
he  personally  was  concerned,  he  washed  his  paws  of 
the  whole  undertaking. 

Shod  in  thick  nailed  boots,  Toddie  fared  better 
126 


TODDIE 

than  did  Devina,  for  her  foot-gear  was  thin  and  but 
ill-suited  to  cope  with  the  difficulties  of  the  situation. 
More  than  once  he  watched  her  anxiously  over  his 
shoulder,  restrained,  however,  from  offering  her  as- 
sistance by  a  feeling  of  awkwardness.  Though  un- 
used to  women,  and  unaccustomed  to  criticize,  even  he 
could  not  but  observe  and  admire  her  gracefulness, 
her  strength,  and  her  decision.  Devina  tackled  slip- 
pery and  insecure  boulders  with  a  quick  judgment 
and  a  light  and  accurate  foot  —  mounting,  descend- 
ing, leaping,  landing,  balancing,  never  far  behind 
her  guide  as  he  led  the  way  with  the  ease  of  one  born 
and  bred  upon  the  coast.  Her  fine  figure  was  seen 
to  advantage  against  the  somber  background.  Lis- 
som as  that  of  a  girl,  it  still  retained  all  the  charm 
of  youth.  And  indeed  who  shall  say  that  she  was  more 
than  a  girl,  this  strong  stately  woman,  with  her 
masses  of  dark  hair  ruffled  by  the  unwonted  exertion 
and  the  glow  of  healthy  blood  dyeing  her  cheeks? 
Not  Toddie  for  one,  be  sure  of  that. 

On  the  far  side  of  a  crevasse  he  paused  and  looked 
back.  A  gulf  lay  between  them,  filled  to  the  brim 
with  deep  water,  and  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  pre- 
cipitous and  seaweed-covered  rocks.  A  gulf  surely 
too  wide  to  be  crossed  without  masculine  as- 
sistance. 

"  Here,"  he  cried  to  her,  leaning  far  over  the  pool, 
"  give  me  yer  hand.'* 

127 


TODDIE 

"  Out  of  the  way,"  she  exclaimed  impatiently,  and, 
even  as  she  spoke,  she  sprang. 

The  impetus  of  her  leap,  and  the  treacherous  sur- 
face upon  which  she  alighted,  caused  her  to  slip. 
There  broke  from  her  an  involuntary  cry.  Quick 
as  thought  his  arm  was  round  her,  and  she  was 
dragged  to  a  position  of  safety.  To  Devina  the 
sensation  was  not  only  novel  but  unexpectedly  pleas- 
ant. For  a  moment  she  looked  at  her  rescuer,  a  new 
light  within  her  eyes. 

"  You  're  strong,"  she  said  with  slow  and  uncon- 
scious approval.  And  Toddie,  outwardly  unmoved, 
glowed  at  the  compliment. 

Gaining  the  farthest  limit  of  the  rocks,  they  seated 
themselves  upon  a  convenient  ledge  .  situated  high 
above  the  advancing  tide.  Bob,  somewhat  more  rec- 
onciled, condescended  to  make  use  of  the  tail  of  his 
master's  coat. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  now  separated  the  trio  from 
the  cliffs  that  formed  the  coast-line.  Before,  and 
on  either  side  of  them,  where  the  promontory  thrust 
itself  outwards,  lay  the  sea.  Through  the  haze  that 
had  begun  to  creep  landwards,  several  fishing-boats 
could  be  faintly  distinguished.  With  lowered  sails 
they  rocked  gently  at  anchorage,  awaiting  the  high 
tide  that  would  permit  them  to  enter  the  harbor.  A 
great  calm  lay  over  all  —  one  of  those  calms  that 
visits  this  iron-bound  coast  not  infrequently  in  winter, 

128 


TODDIE 

and  during  which  all  inanimate  things  seem  either 
dead  or  sunk  into  profound  slumber.  Barely  stirring 
the  breathless  air  came  faint,  thin  cries  of  distant 
sea-birds,  far  out,  in  the  offing.  These  sad  and  al- 
most inaudible  sounds,  suggestive  as  they  were  of 
infinite  space  and  unfettered  lives,  lent  a  strange,  wild 
sweetness  to  the  scene.  Nature  herself  seemed  to  be 
present,  brooding  upon  her  masterpiece,  the  sea. 

The  isolation  of  their  position,  combined  with  the 
sense  of  comradeship  it  engendered,  went  far  towards 
dispelling  the  restraint  that  had  tied  their  tongues, 
and  before  many  minutes  had  passed  they  found 
themselves  chatting  with  surprising  sociability.  Tod- 
die  had  been  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  He  '11  be  goin'  to  the  sixteenth  hole  now,"  he 
mused,  and  there  was  a  note  of  envy  in  his  voice.  "  I 
hope  Murdoch  winna  forget  to  tell  him  to  keep  his 
head  doon.  The  Principal's  Nose  is  aye  a  nasty 
bunker.  We  was  badly  in  it  this  momin'.  '  Tod- 
die,'  says  he,  real  testy  — " 

"  Who  ?  "  demanded  Devina  with  a  frown. 

"  The  Major,  of  course." 

"  See  here,  you  've  not  brought  me  out  to  talk  aboot 
that  man?  " 

"Why  not?  We  couldn't  get  onythin'  better  to 
talk  aboot." 

"  Weel,  if  ye  do  I  'm  not  goin'  to  listen ;  that 's 
tellin'  ye." 

9  129 


TODDIE 

"  Dearie  me !  Is  that  so  ?  What  sort  o'  thing 
should  I  say  ?  " 

Again  a  faint  smile  stole  across  her  averted  face. 

"  Na,"  mused  Toddie,  scratching  his  head,  "  I  sup- 
pose not.  But  —  there 's  awful  little  I  can  talk 
aboot  except  the  golf." 

"  I  wonder  at  ye.  If  I  was  a  man  — "  She  broke 
off,  amazed  with  herself. 

"  Aye,  what  would  ye  do  ?  "  cried  Toddie,  leaning 
forward. 

Her  gloved  fingers  plucked  inadvertently  at  the  sea- 
weed —  her  eyes  gazed  at  the  water  gurgling  and 
eddying  around  the  rocks. 

"  I  'd  make  somethin'  better  of  ma  lif  e.  I  'd  try 
to  do  some  good  with  it.  There  's  an  awful  lot  o' 
poor  ignorant  folks  in  —  in  darkness.  Aye,  poor 
bodies  that  hasna  had  a  chance.  I  'd  like  to  give 
them  a  chance." 

"  A  chance  o'  what?  " 

"  A  chance  of  raisin'  themselves." 

"  Oho,  it 's  a  meenister  you  'd  be  I " 

"And  why  not?  What  are  ye  smilin'  at?  Is  it 
not  a  grand  thing  to  save  lost  sheep?  " 

"That's  like  Bob,"  commented  Toddie  thought- 
fully. 

"  Whiles,"  she  went  on  unheeding,  a  flush  mounting 
to  her  face,  "  when  I  'm  listenin'  to  Mister  McColl 

ISO 


TODDIE 

I   just   burns   all   over   like   the  Apostles    when   the 
tongues  o'  fire  fell  on  their  blessed  heads." 

"  Gude  Sakes !  " 

"  Aye,  I  canna  contain  maself.  I  can  hardly  sit 
still.  I'm  just  yearnin'  to  dae  somethin' — I  dinna 
ken  what  —  but  somethin'  grand  and  useful  —  some- 
thin'  that  '11  help  folks,  I  mean.  And  then,  me  fair 
uplifted,  all  at  once  I  catches  sight  o'  a  silly  hat, 
and  ma  bonnie  castle  o'  dreams  just  tumbles  doon. 
For  what  can  a  woman  do  but  bide  at  hame  and 
dust,  and  mend  stockings,  and  dress  Miss  Charity's 
hair?  » 

,  "  Weel,  weel  I  We  canna  all  be  meenisters.  And 
nae  doot  if  ye  does  yer  duty  in  yer  ain  station,  the 
Lorrd  will  excuse  ye." 

"  Ye  think  that?  " 

"  I  do.  There  's  times  I  'd  like  fine  to  be  a  Club 
member ;  but,  thinks  I,  the  Lorrd  kens  best." 

She  looked  at  him  long. 

"  I  believe  you  're  releegious  after  all,"  she  said, 
and  there  was  wonder  and  solemnity  in  her  voice. 
Toddie  smiled  deprecatingly.  She  continued: 

"I  misjudged  ye.  I  see  that.  I'm  sorry.  It 
will  be  a  lesson  to  me  no'  to  judge  folk  —  I  'm  far 
too  fond  of  doin'  that.  But  — "  and  her  brows 
gathered  again,  "  does  it  no'  make  your  heart  ache 
to  see  the  awful  wickedness  of  St.  Andrews  ?  " 

131 


TODDIE 

"  Hoots !  no.  We  get  on  fine.  There  's  just  the 
one  thing  we  're  needin',  and  that  is  a  tariff  on  the 
auld  course." 

"  Na,  it 's  love  we  need  —  to  love  one  anither." 

His  start  and  look  of  alarm  were  lost  upon  her 
for  she  continued  with  great  earnestness.  "  We  're 
all  hard  at  heart,  somethin'  terrible.  Oh,  I  'm  as 
bad  as  the  rest.  I  just  say  things  I  'm  ashamed 
of.  The  day  now,  I  came  awful  near  to  slappin' 
Jessie's  face  —  it 's  that  impident.  But  you  men  are 
the  worst.  A  body  canna  go  oot  on  a  Saturday 
night  withoot  hearin'  language  no'  fit  for  a  Chris- 
tian country.  And  then, —  there  's  the  drink." 

Toddie  shifted  uneasily. 

"  It 's  the  curse  o'  Scotland." 

"  Na,  na,  not  sae  bad  as  that." 

"  It  is,"  she  vociferated,  turning  indignantly  upon 
him.  "  It  makes  a  man  a  beast  —  worse  nor  a  beast. 
Think  of  his  poor  defenseless  wife  and  his  wee  inno- 
cent bairns  robbed  of  their  bread." 

"  He  might  be  a  bachelor,"  suggested  Toddie  hope- 
fuUy. 

"  I  tell  ye,"  she  continued,  unheeding,  "  if  I  was 
the  King  or  the  Provost  I  'd  throw  all  the  whisky  in 
Scotland  oot  there,  aye,  into  the  sea." 

Toddie  gasped.  His  eyes  —  distended  with  con- 
sternation at  the  bare  notion  of  such  a  national  ca- 

132 


TODDIE 

lamity  —  gazed  at  the  spot  indicated  by  her  resolute 
forefinger. 

"  Would  ye?  "  was  all  he  could  ejaculate.  "  Would 
ye  now?  " 

"  I  would.     And  so  would  you." 

This  was  the  last  straw. 

After  a  pause  she  continued. 

"  What  made  me  think  o'  speakin'  to  the  likes  of 
you  at  all  was  that  I  kenned  ye  for  a  steady,  sober 
man.  I  'm  not  often  mistaken.  Ye  dinna  say  very 
much,  but  there  —  I  see  by  your  face  ye  thinks  with 
me." 

The  countenance  in  question  had  become  suddenly 
suffused  with  a  guilty  red.  Fain  would  poor  Toddie 
have  contradicted  her  —  fain  would  he  have  denied  the 
possession  of  the  unnatural  virtues  thus  unexpectedly 
imputed  to  him.  But,  as  he  opened  his  mouth  to 
speak,  the  sudden,  overpowering  conviction  that,  were 
he  to  deny  it,  he  would  forfeit  forever  her  esteem, 
changed  what  he  had  been  about  to  say  into: 

"  Aye,  aye.     Weel.     Umph  t     Maybe." 

"  I  knew  it,"  she  cried,  and  Toddie's  conscience 
smote  him  hard  at  the  approval  in  her  voice. 


183 


CHAPTER  XV 

FROM  this  moment  to  the  end  of  the  interview 
a  marked  change  might  have  been  observed  in 
Devina's  manner  towards  her  companion.  Her  se- 
verity almost  disappeared  —  her  voice  lost  much  of 
its  hardness,  her  eyes  much  of  their  disapprobation. 
And  if  she  still  retained  her  old  abruptness  and 
"  dourness  " —  an  ungracious  trait,  a  national  as  well 
as  a  personal  characteristic  —  it  was  less  on  account 
of  a  desire  to  repel,  than  the  involuntary  expression 
of  a  proud,  shy,  and  modest  self-consciousness. 

The  twin  discovery  that  "  the  man  "  was  not  with- 
out "  releegion  "  and  eschewed  liquor  were  the  chief 
factors  in  the  transformation.  Although  she  would 
not  own  it,  even  to  herself,  Toddie  had  risen  appre- 
ciably in  her  estimation.  From  a  brand  to  be 
snatched  from  the  burning,  he  had  become  a  torch 
that  might  be  expected  to  give  light  to  a  naughty 
world.  Nor  was  this  change  unnatural.  When  a 
woman  begins  by  disliking  a  man,  and  suddenly  dis- 
covers that  she  likes  him,  the  reaction  in  his  favor 
is  apt  to  carry  her  far.  Her  very  generosity  be- 
comes his  ally,  and  seeks  to  compensate  him  by  pres- 

134 


TODDIE 

ent  kindness  for  all  he  has  suffered  from  her  injustice 
in  the  past. 

The  only  fear  is  that  she  may  overdo  it. 

For  the  first  time  then  since  her  unfortunate  love- 
affair,  Devina  showed  signs  of  a  leniency  towards 
masculine  society.  She  found  herself  listening  with 
complacence  and  even  with  interest  to  the  man's  point 
of  view,  and,  what  is  more,  actually  forgetting  to 
condemn  it.  Several  times  she  surprised  herself  in 
the  very  middle  of  a  smile,  for  Toddie's  naivete  and 
frankness  tickled  her  sense  of  humor  —  and,  Devina 
must  indeed  have  been  badly  introduced  to  the  reader 
if  this  does  not  show  an  immense  advance  along  the 
path  of  unconscious  friendship. 

A  world  of  men  —  typified  by  Archie,  the  rock 
upon  which  her  fair  vessel  of  hope  had  foundered  — 
gave  place  in  slow  and  laborious  transition  to  a  world 
of  men  exemplified  by  Toddie.  A  shattering  of  dis- 
beliefs is  sometimes  as  poignant  as  a  shattering  of 
beliefs.  The  mind,  like  the  body,  is  the  slave  of 
habit,  and  in  the  severing  of  chains  necessitates  labor. 
Devina  felt  this,  but  only  partially,  for  her  feelings 
towards  Toddie  had  barely  crossed  the  borderland 
that  separates  tolerance  from  disapprobation.  To 
her  he  was  still  "  a  man,"  a  thing  apart,  as  aloof  from 
her  existence  as  though  he  were  an  inhabitant  of 
Mars.  But  there  was  nothing  to  force  a  woman  to 
assume  the  defensive  with  him.  He  was  just  a  plain, 

135 


TODDIE 

down  right,  civil-spoken  body,  so  unmistakably  well- 
meaning  that  he  could  not  fail  to  inspire  confidence. 
And  yet  there  was  something  so  engaging  in  his  very 
simplicity,  something  so  childlike  and  spontaneous  in 
his  habit  of  blurting  out  just  what  he  thought,  that 
it  would  have  taken  a  far  harder-hearted  woman  than 
Devina  to  deny  him  a  modicum  of  sympathy. 

More  —  she  pitied  him.  Yes,  she  was  convinced 
that  the  body  was  sorely  in  need  of  feminine  guid- 
ance. She  began  to  observe  him.  Her  quick  eyes 
detected  the  absence  of  a  button.  Continuing  their 
researches  they  noted  and  condemned  the  tear  under 
his  left  arm  where  the  heavy  golf -bag  was  wont  to 
hang.  She  longed  to  do  battle  with  that  coat  — 
not  for  the  sake  of  its  wearer,  she  reassured  herself 
as  to  that,  but  out  of  a  sense  of  decency. 

Pity !  The  very  light  of  heaven  in  a  good  woman's 
eye.  But  a  dangerous  emotion  to  bestow  upon  a 
single  man  when  a  woman  desires  to  remain  on  purely 
platonic  relations  with  him.  Devina,  however,  was 
as  unconscious  of  danger  as  a  babe  unborn. 

Many  things  puzzled  her  when  she  had  time  to 
ponder  over  them.  That  she  should  speak  to  him  so 
freely  of  matters  and  feelings  which  she  considered 
sacred  was  astounding.  Her  want  of  reticence  filled 
her  with  amazement,  with  incredulity.  Unknown  to 
herself,  it  went  far  towards  revolutionizing  her  out- 
look. 

136 


TODDIE 

As  for  our  hero,  he  too  was  most  pleasantly  as- 
tonished. A  woman  was  evidently  not  such  a  poor 
companion  after  all !  It  was  a  revelation.  He  won- 
dered that  he  had  not '  found  it  out  before.  But, 
pondering  thereon,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
Devina  must  be  one  bright  exception  to  her  sex. 
His  good  fortune  in  having  discovered  just  the  one 
companionable  and  safe  woman  in  the  world  struck 
him  as  amazing.  "  None  of  yer  silliness,  but  just 
sensible,"  was  his  verdict,  as  she  assented  to  the  ma- 
jority of  his  statements.  Her  present  attitude  to- 
wards him  —  an  attitude  that  might  almost  be  termed 
genial  —  speedily  thawed  his  reserve.  He  expanded 
and  laid  down  the  law,  more  and  more  at  his  ease. 
It  was  as  good  as  being  with  Tarn.  He  gazed  with 
increasing  confidence  into  the  dark  face  turned  ap- 
preciatively towards  him,  and  his  eyes  expressed  a 
satisfaction  and  an  approval,  which,  however,  his 
lips  were  far  too  cautious  to  corroborate.  Her  un- 
spoken, yet  visibly  golden,  opinion  of  him  warmed 
him  to  his  sturdy  backbone.  That  it  was  entirely 
unmerited  mattered  nothing.  That  was  a  mere  de- 
tail. Toddie  silenced  his  conscience  so  successfully 
that  he  persuaded  it  to  go  to  sleep,  while  he  reveled 
in  the  delightful  delusion  that  he  was  a  sober  and 
religious  member  of  society.  It  was  so  unusual. 
He  scarcely  recognized  himself.  He  became  firmly 
convinced  that  nature  had  really  intended  him  to  be 

137 


TODDIE 

virtuous.  That  he  had  not  been  so  in  the  past  was 
merely  an  accident  —  a  postponement.  Had  he  not 
the  future  for  his  own?  Time  enough  yet.  No  oc- 
casion to  hurry.  Such  a  reformation  demanded 
thought. 

Meanwhile  it  was  all  very  pleasant  —  very  pleas- 
ant indeed.  Devina's  praise  contributed  not  a  little 
towards  his  appreciation  of  her  society.  She  was 
clever.  No  doubt  of  that.  In  a  few  short  inter- 
views she  had  discovered  the  real  Toddie  —  or  we 
might  say,  the  future  Toddie  —  a  personage,  mark 
you,  compact  of  solid  and  admirable  qualities,  hith- 
erto unappreciated.  To  know  that  we  are  admired 
is  an  incentive  to  us  to  show  ourselves  at  our  best. 
And  —  O  strange  anomaly  of  the  human  heart  — 
is  not  the  flattery  that  credits  us  with  virtues  foreign 
to  our  natures,  more  silver-sounding  than  any  recog- 
nition of  the  merits  to  which  we  can  honestly  lay 
claim  ? 

Toddie,  then,  was  at  his  best.  Mounted  upon  his 
favorite  hobby-horse,  never  before  had  he  galloped 
so  gaily  in  conversation.  He  reminded  himself  of 
the  Major  at  his  best  —  and  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  saw  no  presumption  in  the  comparison.  Pearls 
of  inestimable  value  fell  from  his  lips.  He  betrayed 
a  knowledge  of  life,  a  profundity  of  observation 
wholly  unsuspected.  His  remarks  upon  the  folly  of 
those  who  "  walked  oot "  were  both  pungent  and 

138 


TODDIE 

caustic.  His  tirade  against  matrimony  was  calcu- 
lated to  damp  the  ardor  of  the  most  burning  of 
bridegrooms.  And  as  for  his  condemnation  of  that 
crowning  absurdity  called  "  love  " —  well,  it  was  more 
than  sufficient  to  make  Venus  weep  and  induce  Cupid 
to  break  his  arrows  in  despair. 

Devina  listened  and  acquiesced.  "  Aye,  that 's 
what  I  tell  Jessie." — "  Just  so,  keepin'  company  is 
awful  silly."— "  D  'ye  think  that?  That's  the  way 
I  looks  at  it  maself." — "  Ma  word,  I  just  wish  Miss 
Charity  could  hear  ye." 

These  and  kindred  observations  were  as  fuel  to  his 
fire. 

And  all  the  while,  intent  only  on  convincing  her  of 
the  imbecility  —  nay,  the  non-existence  of  love,  he 
edged  nearer,  laid  the  point  of  a  confidential  and 
explanatory  forefinger  on  her  knee,  gazed  earnestly 
into  her  face,  sunned  himself  in  the  approving  light 
of  her  eyes,  drank  the  cup  of  her  intoxicating  pres- 
ence, and  read  in  her  looks,  in  her  attention,  the 
manifest  and  unmistakable  evidence  of  a  dawning 
appreciation  that  equaled  his  own. 

Then  —  alas  that  there  should  be  a  "  then,"  for 
in  this  case  it  is  as  tantalizing  as  an  "  if,"  as  post- 
poning as  a  "  but  " —  Bob  spoiled  it  all. 

That  unaccountable  animal  had  for  some  time 
shown  signs  of  uneasiness.  One  might  have  sup- 
posed that,  in  common  gratitude  for  his  share  of 

139 


TODDIE 

Toddle's  coat,  he  would  have  lent  an  approving  ear 
to  sentiments  so  deserving  of  respect.  But  no.  Not 
at  all.  The  conversation  might  have  been  carried 
on  entirely  in  Greek  for  all  the  notice  he  took  of  it. 
His  mind  was  plainly  engrossed  with  mundane  mat- 
ters !  Time  and  again  in  the  middle  of  an  improving 
sentence  he  had  whimpered  and  scratched,  looking 
with  anxious  eyes  alternately  from  the  sea  to  his 
master's  face.  In  vain  had  he  been  commanded  to 
"  Lie  doon,"  and  to  "  Stop  yer  botherin'."  He  had 
but  redoubled  his  exertions. 

All  at  once  his  pantomime  had  the  desired  effect. 
Toddie's  curiosity  was  aroused.  He  observed  Bob 
closely.  Then,  his  eyes  too  rested  on  the  sea. 

"  Ma  God ! "  he  cried,  and  started  to  his  feet. 

At  any  other  time  the  ejaculation  would  have 
elicited  Devina's  stern  condemnation,  but  something 
in  her  companion's  face  drove  the  profanity  from 
her  memory. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  cried  in  alarm. 

"  That !  "     And  he  pointed. 

Slowly  and  insidiously,  while  they  had  been  en- 
grossed with  each  other,  the  tide  had  risen.  Rocks 
that  upon  their  arrival  had  been  a  good  three  feet 
above  water  were  now  submerged.  There  was  some- 
thing menacing  in  this  stealthy  encroachment.  It 
endowed  the  sea  with  life  and  a  purpose ;  as  though 
it  were  a  wild  animal  licking  and  growling,  feigning 

140 


TODDIE 

gentleness  and  amiability,  but  in  reality  creeping 
nearer  and  ever  nearer  before  it  sprang  and  destroyed. 
The  mist,  too,  was  upon  them.  Seen  through  its 
mysterious  folds,  the  water  gleamed  wickedly. 

"  Come  on,"  cried  Toddie ;  and,  seizing  her  by  the 
arm,  he  dragged  her  to  her  feet. 

As  they  hastily  retraced  their  steps,  scrambling  up 
and  down  the  slippery  boulders,  he  explained  in  a 
few  words  the  cause  of  his  alarm.  He  reminded  her 
of  a  gap  in  the  reef.  It  had  been  dry  sand  when  they 
had  traversed  it  some  half  an  hour  before.  It  would 
be  under  water  now. 

Again  and  again  he  cursed  himself  for  his  stupid- 
ity. It  was  all  his  fault.  What  had  possessed  him? 
How  could  he  have  forgotten  the  tide  ?  It  was  "  daf t- 
like  " —  inexcusable. 

Devina  never  spoke.  This  unexpected  call  upon 
her  courage  found  her  prepared.  Accepting  his  as- 
sistance, in  silence,  and  with  a  grave  and  preoccupied 
look  upon  her  face,  she  followed  him  closely. 

Reaching  the  limit  of  t{ie  reef,  they  found  Tod- 
die's  fears  realized.  An  expanse  of  some  twenty 
yards  of  water,  momentarily  deepening,  now  sepa- 
rated them  from  the  parallel  reef  that  would  have  led 
them  dry-shod  to  the  land. 

"  We  '11  have  to  wade,"  said  Devina  resolutely. 

"  Wade !  "  cried  Toddie  in  scorn.  "  It 's  up  to  yer 
waist ! " 

141 


TODDIE 

The  gravity  on  her  face  deepened. 

"  Is  there  no  ither  way  ?  " 

"  Aye,  bide  here.  The  reef  narrows  up  yonder. 
I  '11  see." 

He  hastened  from  her. 

Devina  stood  on  the  edge  watching  the  water  that 
gushed  and  gurgled  at  her  feet.  Its  little  busy  ways 
among  the  boulders  had  now  a  strange  evil  fascination 
for  her,  for  did  not  her  position  endow  it  with  a  new 
and  sinister  significance?  It  was  full  of  feigned 
flights  and  sudden  rallies,  of  dying  laps  and  gur- 
gles, of  hollow  murmurs  and  explosions,  of  sighs  and 
protests,  of  treacherous  pauses,  of  swift  advances,  of 
mournful  and  unwearying  agitation. 

As  she  watched,  it  crept  higher,  receded,  crept 
higher  again.  It  would  soon  cover  the  rock  upon 
which  she  was  standing.  Its  apparent  indecision  was 
full  of  deception,  for  was  it  not  a  part  of  a  vast  con- 
certed and  onward  movement  inevitable  as  fate,  inex- 
orable as  time?  As  she  looked  at  it,  her  thoughts 
reverted  to  her  father,  and  to  how  this  purring,  fawn- 
ing creature  had  stifled  the  life  out  of  his  strong  and 
vigorous  manhood.  A  grim  anger  seized  her. 

Her  thoughts,  momentarily  diverted,  returned  to 
Toddie.  She  had  lost  sight  of  him  in  the  mist.  She 
wondered  at  herself  for  not  feeling  alarm,  and  was 
forced  to  admit  that  had  she  been  by  herself  she 
would  not  have  faced  the  situation  with  a  like 

142 


TODDIE 

equanimity.  It  might  well  have  been  very  eerie  and 
very  lonely  waiting  there,  cut  off  from  even  the  sight 
of  the  land  by  the  damp  clinging  vapor  that  drifted 
in  from  the  Northern  sea,  and  through  whose  im- 
palpable folds  the  surrounding  rocks  loomed  like 
phantoms,  fading  away  into  a  mysterious  nothing- 
ness, a  gray  and  shifting  obscurity.  But  Devina 
felt  neither  eerie  nor  lonely.  She  thought  of  Tod- 
die. 

His  voice  as  he  hastened  towards  her  was  inexpressi- 
bly welcome. 

"  It 's  no  good,"  he  panted,  breathless  with  the 
speed  with  which  he  had  clambered  over  the  rocks. 
"  It 's  narrower,  but  it 's  a  sight  deeper.  It 's  just 
been  a  waste  o'  time,  and  the  tide  comin'  in  every  sin- 
gle minute."  He  looked  at  her  doubtfully,  then  in- 
quired, "  How  are  ye  goin'  to  manage  ?  " 

"  I  '11  take  off  ma  shoes  and  stockings." 

"  I  doubt  it  '11  be  too  deep." 

"  I  can  try." 

"  Weel,  be  quick.     We  've  no  time  to  lose." 

But  she  hesitated. 

"  What  is  it  now  ?  "  he  cried  testily. 

Devina  flushed.  "  Would  ye  mind  lookin'  the  ither 
way  ?  "  Then  when  he  had  complied  with  her  request : 
"  You  go  first." 

Toddie  plunged  into  the  water.  Devina  followed. 
Bob  swam  lustily.  Around  them  the  waves  swirled 


TODDIE 

and  eddied.  As  the  chill  of  their  touch  met  her 
naked  limbs  Devina  shivered.  Her  stockings  and 
shoes  were  suspended  from  her  neck  —  both  hands 
being  fully  occupied  in  holding  her  garments  as  high 
as  possible.  It  needed  but  a  moment  however  to  con- 
vince her  that  her  companion  was  right.  The  water 
was  too  deep  to  wade.  Already  a  wave  had  drenched 
her  from  behind.  In  spite  of  her  efforts  she  felt  that 
it  was  impossible  to  reach  the  other  side  without  dam- 
age to  her  clothes.  Consternation  fell  upon  her.  In 
a  flash  she  pictured  her  dripping  and  undignified 
progress  through  the  streets  of  St.  Andrews  —  the 
comments  of  the  neighbors  —  the  amusement  and  jeers 
of  her  fellow  servants. 

"  Are  ye  all  right?  "  cried  Toddie. 

There  was  no  reply.  Alarmed  by  the  silence,  and 
forgetful  of  his  promise,  he  turned  round  in  mid- 
passage,  and  to  his  horror  and  indignation  beheld 
Devina  mounting  the  rock  she  had  so  recently 
quitted. 

"Hi!"  he  shouted.  "Are  ye  mad?  D'ye  want 
to  be  drowned?  " 

"  I  'm  not  comin',"  she  cried  with  decision,  and  sud- 
denly aware  of  his  eyes,  let  down  her  garments  with 
a  run. 

Without  a  word  he  waded  towards  her.  She 
watched  his  approach,  a  look  of  defiance  in  her  eyes, 
but  a  feeling  of  alarm  in  her  heart. 

144 


TODDIE 

"  What  are  ye  goin'  to  do  ?  "  she  faltered  as  he 
clambered  up  the  rock. 

"  I  'm  goin'  to  carry  ye." 

"I'll  — I'll  not  let  ye." 

He  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes,  and  her  heart 
fluttered  as  she  marked  the  determination  in  his  face. 

"  See  here,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  though  quiet  was 
unexpectedly  masterful.  "  None  of  yer  nonsense. 
As  ye  won't  walk,  I  'm  goin'  to  carry  ye.  Do  as 
ye  're  told.  Get  up." 

Devina  gasped.  She  gazed  at  the  broad  back  low- 
ered for  her  convenience,  and  an  overpowering  and 
novel  sensation  of  weakness  and  dependence  ran 
through  her.  She  would  have  again  refused,  but 
something  tied  her  tongue. 

"  Get  up,"  commanded  Toddie. 

"  I  'm  awful  heavy,"  she  faltered  as  she  obeyed. 
But,  "  Hold  tight,"  was  his  only  response. 

Together  they  braved  the  waters  —  a  small  but  vic- 
torious man,  bearing  on  his  back  a  large  but  van- 
quished woman. 

The  waves  leapt  around  them,  strove  to  reach  De- 
vina, sought  to  drag  Toddie  from  his  footing,  but 
finding  their  efforts  in  vain,  consoled  themselves  with 
chuckles  of  glee  and  ripples  of  merriment. 

The  sea  is  a  consummate  actress.  In  her  time  she 
has  played  many  parts.  On  her  lips  there  is  laugh- 
ter, and  in  her  heart  there  are  tears.  Both  are  obedi- 
10  145 


TODDIE 

ent  to  her  command.  Had  circumstances  permitted 
she  would  have  drowned  this  man  and  woman.  Balked 
of  her  prey  she  turned  the  episode  into  a  jest  and 
pelted  them  with  foam.  Only  great  actresses  can 
thus  turn  their  talents  to  suit  the  occasion.  She 
seemed  to  be  saying  to  herself :  "  If  I  cannot  have 
tragedy,  I  will  have  comedy."  So  comedy  it  was. 


146 


CHAPTER  XVI 

'  ¥^\INNA  make  such  a  noise,"  expostulated  Tod- 
M^J  die,  starting  from  the  drowsy  after-effects  of 
a  Sunday  dinner.  But  Bob  would  not  take  advice. 

"  Are  ye  there  ?  "  quavered  a  pathetic  and  obse- 
quious voice  through  a  crack  in  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Toddie  with  cordiality.  "  Shut 
the  door,  for  ony  sake,  the  wind  's  like  to  freeze  ye." 

Bob's  indignant  bark  had  changed  swiftly  to  a 
whine  of  pleased  recognition,  for  Tarn  Macintyre 
was  one  of  the  favored  few  whom  he  considered 
worthy  to  approach  his  master. 

"  And  what  brings  ye  here  the  day,  Tarn  ?  "  yawned 
Toddie,  stretching  himself.  The  visitor's  wistful 
eyes  proclaimed  the  small  but  cheerful  fire  a  sufficient 
excuse. 

He  was  a  pathetic  figure,  bowed  with  age,  pinched 
with  cold,  grizzled,  emaciated,  hopeless,  dressed  in  a 
threadbare  overcoat  of  faded  green,  buttoned  tightly 
round  his  skinny  neck.  His  legs,  bent  at  the  knees, 
were  concealed  by  baggy  trousers  many  sizes  too 
large,  and  so  patched  that  the  tailor,  once  responsi- 
ble for  their  existence,  would  have  blushed  to  recog- 

147 


TODDIE 

nize  them.  A  battered  and  antiquated  cap  that  had 
evidently  belonged  to  a  nautical  gentleman,  and  boots 
clamoring  for  the  cobbler,  completed  his  costume. 

As  he  stood  in  the  middle  of  Toddie's  room  his 
teeth  chattered. 

"Ye 're  just  perishin'!"  cried  Toddie.  "Here, 
sit  in  to  the  fire."  With  rough  kindness  he  forced 
his  guest  into  the  one  armchair,  while  he  seated 
himself  on  a  three-legged  stool.  The  old  man,  still 
trembling,  stretched  his  benumbed  fingers  to  the 
blaze. 

"  Had  ye  a  round  yesterday?  "  questioned  Toddie, 
frowning  thoughtfully. 

Tarn  shook  his  head. 

"Or  the  day  before?" 

"  One,"  mumbled  Tarn,  intent  on  enjoying  the  fire. 

Toddie  snorted.  "  That 's  a  shillin'  and  saxpence 
in  two  days  ?  " 

"  Aye,  just  that." 

"  Ma  word !  that 's  not  enough  to  keep  body  and 
soul  thegither." 

"  An*  pay  the  rent  — "  broke  in  Tarn,  waking  up 
and  speaking  with  quavering  earnestness.  "  Dinna 
forget  that.  If  it  wasna  for  you  — " 

"  Hoots,  man,  never  speak  o'  that." 

"  But  I  will  speak  o'  it.  You  've  been  a  good 
friend  to  me,  mony  's  the  time,  and  I  '11  never  forget 
it,  but  — "  and  he  heaved  a  sigh  — "  it 's  like  a  crumb 

148 


TODDIE 

to  a  famishin'  stomach,  ye  may  say.  What  are  ye 
about?  " 

Toddie  had  sprung  to  his  feet,  and  was  opening  a 
cupboard. 

"  I  'm  hungry,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  just  lookin'  to  see 
what 's  left.  Aye.  Here  's  a  cheese,  and  a  loaf,  and 
a  bonnie  bit  o'  haddock,  cold,  but  that  doesna  matter 
—  and  —  and  a  bottle  o'  whusky.  Will  ye  keep  me 
company  ?  " 

As  the  inventory  proceeded,  Tarn's  mouth  opened, 
and  an  expression  all  but  wolfish  glittered  in  his  eyes. 

The  viands  were  placed  on  the  table.  Tarn,  en- 
couraged thereto,  and  after  faint  demur,  attacked 
them  ravenously.  For  some  time  the  noise  of  his 
performance  was  the  only  sound  to  be  heard  —  but 
at  length  he  raised  his  head. 

"  You  're  not  eatin'  ?  "  he  remonstrated  with  full 
mouth. 

"  I  felt  awful  like  eatin',"  apologized  Toddie  avoid- 
ing his  eye,  "  but  it 's  clean  gone  from  me.  Bob, 
think  shame  o'  yourself." 

Tarn  looked  at  the  culprit. 

"  That  dog,"  continued  Toddie,  pointing  indig- 
nantly, "  would  eat  all  day,  aye,  and  all  night,  too, 
if  ye  gave  him  the  chance.  D  'ye  hear?  Under  the 
table  wi'  ye." 

Dragged  thus  into  undesired  publicity,  Bob  feigned 
obedience;  but  no  sooner  was  his  master's  attention 

149 


TODDIE 

diverted,  than  there  he  was  again,  shamelessly  watch- 
ing every  mouthful  on  its  passage  from  the  plate  to 
Tarn's  lips  with  a  breathless  absorption,  not  without 
hope. 

"  You  're  not  drinkin',"  exclaimed  Tarn  with  still 
greater  astonishment. 

"  No." 

"  How  's  that?  " 

"  I  wouldna  touch  it." 

"Eh?" 

"  I  say  even  if  ye  held  that  bottle  to  ma  lips  I 
wouldna  touch  a  drop  —  I  believe  I  'd  spit  it  oot. 
DJ  ye  no'  ken,  Tammas  Macintyre,  that  drink  is  the 
curse  o'  Scotland?  " 

"Guid  sakes!" 

*'  Aye,  it  takes  the  bread  oot  of  wee  bairns'  mouths. 
It 's  a  fact,  Tarn ;  I  have  it  on  the  best  authority. 
Nae  wonder  yer  flabbergasted.  So  was  I.  And  here 
—  that 's  the  last  bottle  o'  whusky  ye  '11  see  in  this 
house,  so  that 's  tellin'  ye." 

"  Weel  — "  muttered  Tarn,  after  he  had  gaped  at 
his  host  for  a  full  minute.  "  Weel,  if  that 's  so,  it 
would  be  a  peety  no'  tae  make  the  most  o'  it."  And 
with  that  his  hand  sought  the  neck  of  the  bottle. 

"  How  does  it  taste  ?  "  inquired  Toddie  with  great 
interest. 

"  Fine,"  gasped  Tarn,  for  the  raw  spirit  caused  him 
to  choke. 

150 


TODDIE 

Toddle's  eyes  glistened.  He  looked  at  the  bottle 
wistfully. 

"  Have  a  drop  —  go  on,"  tempted  his  friend,  push- 
ing it  towards  him.  But  Toddie's  hand,  half  out- 
stretched, was  resolutely  withdrawn. 

"  No,  I  won't  touch  it  —  it 's  clean  again'  her  — 
I  mean  ma  principles." 

"  Hoots !  I  canna  think  what 's  wrong  with  ye. 
I  canna  understand  what  ye  mean  by  *  cursin' '  and 
*  takin'  the  bread  frae  bairns.'  Maybe  ye  're  at  para- 
bles again.  I  never  hear  ye  swear,  forby  it 's  a  damn 
or  twa  that  just  slips  oot  accidental  like.  And  as  for 
mishandlin'  wee  bairns,  that 's  nonsense,  for  we  all 
ken  ye  're  fond  o'  them.  Na,  na,  Toddie,  ye  can  take 
ma  word  for  it,  the  drink  's  a  grand  thing.  It  warms 
ye,  aye,  and  it  makes  ye  forget.  Besides," —  he 
smiled  insinuatingly,  "  is  it  no'  recommended  in  the 
Bible?" 

"  Eh  ?     In  the  Bible  ?     Is  that  so  ?  " 

"  Aye,  is  it.  It  says  — '  It 's  a  poor  heart  that 
never  rejoiceth.'  I  canna  mind  who  says  it,  maybe  it 
was  Solomon,  but  ye  '11  find  it  there  right  enough." 

"  Ma  word !  Ye  're  right.  I  mind  the  text.  I  wish 
I  'd  thought  o'  sayin'  that.  She 's  that  partial  to 
Screepture.  Aye,  aye,  that  changes  the  case  all  the- 
gither.  There  can  be  nae  harm  in  whusky  if  the 
Bible  says  that.  Even  she  couldna  verra  weel  find 
fault  wi'  Solomon.  Ma  word !  I  'm  awful  glad  ye 

151 


TODDIE 

thought  o'  that,  Tam.  It  shall  never  be  said  o'  me 
that  I  've  a  poor  heart.  Here  's  to  ye !  " 

After  this  reassuring  conversation,  the  bottle  cir- 
culated freely.  The  etiquette  followed  by  both  men 
was  identical.  Each  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back 
of  his  hand,  muttered  the  above-mentioned  toast,  put 
the  bottle  to  his  lips,  threw  back  his  head  and  swal- 
lowed with  audible  satisfaction.  So  devoutly  did  they 
perform  this  ceremony  that  an  onlooker  might  have 
been  excused  for  imagining  them  engaged  in  the  per- 
formance of  a  solemn  religious  duty.  It  would  have 
been  noticeable,  however,  that  the  modest  sips  of  Tam 
were  put  to  shame  by  the  doughty  gulps  of  Toddie. 

The  former,  as  time  went  on,  lost  much  of  his  ha- 
bitual despondency;  indeed  the  food,  the  drink,  and 
the  warmth  worked  an  unexpected  transformation 
upon  this  poor  old  derelict  of  the  links.  A  pipe 
loaded  with  his  host's  tobacco  added  a  finishing  touch 
to  the  pleasant  metamorphosis. 

"  Ye  're  real  cozy  here,  quite  grand,"  he  commended 
wistfully,  but  without  envy,  casting  his  eyes  around. 
Then  with  an  appreciative  sniff :  "  And  what  a  com- 
fortin'  smell." 

A  faint  odor  of  fruit  and  vegetables  pervaded  the 
little  room,  for  next  door  Wilson,  the  greengrocer, 
stored  his  stock-in-trade.  The  untidiness,  the  dis- 
order, the  atmosphere  of  poverty  and  lack  of  cleanli- 
ness, all  were  overlooked,  or  rather  all,  seen  redly  in 

152 


TODDIE 

the  flickering  light  of  the  fire,  as  through  an  at- 
mosphere of  couleur  de  rose,  elicited  nothing  but 
Tarn's  heart-felt  admiration. 

"  Oh,  aye,"  agreed  Toddie,  puffing  placidly, 
"  you  're  right.  It 's  comf ortin'.  If  ye  canna  af- 
ford to  buy  apples,  it  does  ye  good  to  smell  them." 

"  It 's  bein'  engaged  by  the  month  does  it,"  mused 
Tarn,  eyeing  the  wreck  of  the  cheese  regretfully. 
"  No,  I  canna  eat  ony  more  —  But  as  I  was 
sayin' — " 

And  with  an  expression  of  unusual  contentment  he 
descanted  long  upon  the  joys  of  regular  employment. 
"  Me?  "  he  cried  incredulously  in  answer  to  a  sugges- 
tion of  his  host  — "  me  be  engaged  by  the  month !  — " 
He  puffed  feverishly.  Then  turning  to  Toddie,  his 
eyes  full  of  trouble,  continued :  "  That  will  never  be. 
Not  only  that,  but  I  'm  losing  the  very  gentlemen 
I  've  carried  for  for  years.  Oh,  ye  needna  deny  it, 
it 's  God's  truth.  I  canna  think  what 's  the  matter. 
Things  is  awful  changed,  I  see  that.  St.  Andrews  is 
no'  the  place  it  was.  I  'm  a  good  caddie,  none  better. 
What  did  Mr.  Stott  mean  by  sayin'  to  Braid  — '  I 
won't  take  Tarn '  ?  Oh,  I  heard  him  weel  enough, 
though  some  folks  pretends  I  'm  deaf.  Toddie, 
you  've  been  in  the  same  match  with  me,  mony  's  the 
time ;  have  ye  ever  known  me  not  able  to  do  ma  duty  ? 
Have  ye,  I  say,  have  ye?  " 

He  had  gripped  Toddie's  arm.  His  voice  rose  at 
153 


TODDIE 

the  last  insistent  words  into  a  quaver  of  senile  and 
impotent  indignation. 

"  No,  Tarn,"  soothed  Toddie.     "  No,  no." 

The  denial  fell  naturally  from  his  lips,  but  the 
memory  of  Tarn  failing  fast  came  to  his  mind  —  of 
Tarn  shambling  after  his  employer ;  weighed  down  by 
the  heavy  bag ;  unable  to  keep  pace  with  the  match ; 
feverishly,  painfully  anxious  to  give  satisfaction,  but 
plainly  haunted  by  fear  —  the  fear  lest  others  should 
discover  what  he  himself  realized  only  too  well. 

"  You  're  not  drinkin',  Tarn,"  he  cried  with  rough 
feeling. 

But  Tarn  shook  his  head.  With  dull  eyes  fixed  on 
the  fire  he  had  suddenly  forgotten  his  surroundings, 
forgotten  even  his  pipe.  His  lips  moved  inaudibly. 
As  he  sat  there,  huddled  up,  incongruously  small  in 
the  large  armchair,  he  appeared  to  have  become  but 
the  faintly  animated  soul  of  the  faded  green  coat,  as 
threadbare,  as  reminiscent  of  the  past,  as  incompetent 
to  cope  with  the  exigencies  of  the  present. 

Toddie  looked  at  him  for  some  time  in  silence,  then 
dolefully  shaking  his  head,  reapplied  himself  to  the 
bottle. 

All  at  once  Tarn  roused  himself;  or  to  speak  more 
accurately,  he  was  roused  by  Bob,  for  the  tender- 
hearted animal  intuitively  scenting  trouble,  sought  to 
insert  a  cold  and  wet  nose  between  the  palm  of  Tarn's 
left  hand  and  the  leg  of  Tarn's  disreputable  trousers. 

154 


TODDIE 

Recalled  thus  sympathetically  to  the  present,  and  se- 
cretly ashamed  of  having  betrayed  emotion,  Tarn  be- 
gan to  discourse  on  various  topics  connected  with  the 
links.  But  whether  he  touched  upon  the  decay  of  ap- 
preciative employers,  or  the  weight  of  modern  golf- 
bags,  or  the  growing  number  of  lady  players,  one  felt 
that  in  every  subject  there  lurked  a  grievance.  The 
last  mentioned  roused  his  mild  indignation. 

"  Did  ye  ever  see  onythin'  like  it ! "  he  cried. 
"  They  're  as  bad  as  trippers ;  that  mony  o1  them 
carries  for  themselves.  I  canna  see  the  use  o'  women, 
can  you,  Toddie?  " 

Toddie  grunted  inarticulately. 

"  No  doubt  the  Lorrd  knew  fine  what  He  was  about 
when  He  made  them,"  mused  Tarn,  divided  between 
his  anxiety  to  honor  the  schemes  of  his  Creator  and  his 
anxiety  to  pander  to  the  well-known  prejudices  of 
his  host,  "  but  I  canna  help  thinkin'  that  if  He  could 
only  ha'  foreseen  whit  the  gentlemen  call  the  con- 
gestion o'  the  links  He  wouldna  have  been  in  sich  a 
hurry.  Oh,  aye,  women  are  awful  useless  bodies, 
that 's  a  fact." 

"  Not  all,"  blurted  Toddie,  somewhat  thickly. 

Tarn  stared. 

"  Not  all,"  reiterated  Toddie,  solemnly  frowning 
at  the  black  bottle,  and  speaking  with  an  air  of  la- 
bored impartiality.  "  I  know  one  that  ye  just  darena 
call  useless.  And  more  nor  that,  she  knows  her  place. 

155 


TODDIE 

Ye  never  see  her  on  the  links.  Ye  feel  bound  to  re- 
spect her.  Oh,  there  's  good  in  her,  though  it  would 
bother  the  likes  o'  you  to  find  it  out." 

"How  did  you  find  it  out?  "  asked  Tarn  respect- 
fully, though  still  suffering  from  amazement. 

"  I  believe  it  was  through  Bob,"  said  Toddie  sim- 
ply. "  Ye  may  have  noticed  that  Bob  's  no'  easy 
deceived.  He  reads  the  heart.  He  never  makes  a 
mistake.  He  came  straight  to  me  when  he  came  to 
St.  Andrews.  And  more  —  he  likes  you." 

Tarn's  hand  found  Bob's  head  in  involuntary  ap- 
proval, but  he  continued  to  gaze  at  his  friend  with  a 
not  unnatural  amazement.  Toddie's  eyes  never  wan- 
dered from  the  bottle.  Slowly  and  apparently  invol- 
untarily, like  one  mesmerized,  he  reached  out  a  hand, 
raised  the  temptation  to  his  lips,  then  set  it  down  with 
a  deep  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  Aye,"  he  went  on,  speaking  more  and  more 
thickly,  "Bob  liked,  her  from  the  first.  She's  the 
sort  o'  woman  to  please  a  dog.  Ye  canna  deny  it. 
Firm,  too.  A  sort  of  rock  o'  ages.  In  trouble, 
aye,  or  in  danger  ye  never  hear  her  squeal.  Oh, 
no!" 

He  gazed  abstractedly  at  the  fire,  grunted  tenderly 
once  or  twice,  then,  looking  up,  inquired :  "  Have 
ye  ever  carried  a  woman,  Tarn?  " 

"  Carried !     A  woman ! " 

"  That 's  what  I  said." 

156 


TODDIE 

Tarn  scratched  his  chin  —  his  bleared  eyes  seemed 
to  be  gazing  into  the  past. 

"  I  believe  I  carried  ma  wife  when  she  was  ill." 

"  Far?  " 

"Eh?" 

"  I  said  far.     Did  ye  carry  her  far  ?  " 

"  Na,  it  wasna  that  far.  Just  from  the  chair  to 
the  bed." 

Toddie  cried  out  with  scorn.  "  From  the  chair  to 
the  bed?  What's  that?  A  couple  of  yards,  maybe. 
Hoots !  ye  had  nae  time  to  feel  her  weight.  Man !  — " 
he  turned  reproachful  eyes  on  the  amazed  Tarn,  "  I 
wonder  to  hear  ye  boastin'  aboot  a  think  like  that! 
And  a  sick  woman,  too  —  nae  doot  she  hadna  the 
strength  to  refuse  ye." 

"  She  didna  wish  to  refuse  me.  She  was  awful 
pleased." 

"Pleased?     Was  she?" 

"  Aye,  was  she,  I  mind  her  whisperin' — *  Thank  ye, 
dearie.' " 

Toddie's  face  fell,  then  became  hopeful. 

"  Did  she  near  strangle  ye?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"No  fear!" 

"  What?     Did  she  no'  get  on  yer  back?  " 

"  On  ma  back !  Na,  that 's  no  way  to  carry  a 
woman." 

"  It  is.  It 's  the  only  way.  Hoots,  ye  treated 
her  like  a  bairn.  Oh,  I  'm  no'  findin'  fault  wi'  you, 

157 


TODDIE 

Tarn.  Ye  did  yer  best,  but  take  ma  advice  the  next 
time  je  carry  a  woman  just  you  make  her  get  on  yer 
back.  It 's  safer.  Ye  see  where  yer  goin',  aye,  step 
by  step,  wi'  the  water  swirlin'  round  yer  legs  — " 
He  stopped  short,  put  upon  his  guard  by  the  stupe- 
faction in  his  friend's  face,  then  suddenly  transfixing 
Tarn  with  an  inflamed  and  indignant  eye :  "  And 
what  business  is  it  o'  yours,  Tammas  Macintyre,  to 
come  here  pryin'  into  oor  secrets." 

This  onslaught  was  delivered  so  unexpectedly,  and 
the  imputations  it  conveyed  were  moreover  so  unmer- 
ited, that  poor  Tarn  could  only  gape ;  then,  his  eyes 
straying  to  the  bottle,  he  nodded  with  gentle  and 
sympathetic  enlightenment. 

"  Aye,  aye,"  he  murmured  leniently,  "  I  'm  no'  sur- 
prised, but  I  'm  sorry  to  hear  ye  say  that  —  aye,  and 
you  '11  be  sorry,  too,  when  ye  're  more  yerself ." 

He  stopped  in  a  fresh  access  of  astonishment,  for 
Toddie,  in  the  very  act  of  wiping  his  nose  on  his 
sleeve,  had  suddenly  paused,  his  thoughts  visibly  else- 
where, then  slowly  and  as  one  acting  under  compul- 
sion, had  made  use  of  a  venerable  duster. 

"  I  've  never  seen  you  do  that  before,"  exclaimed 
Tarn,  watching  the  performance  with  unfeigned  in- 
terest. But  Toddie,  looking  extremely  sheepish,  af- 
fected not  to  hear. 

"  Drink  has  queer  effects  on  a  man,"  marveled 
Tarn  partly  to  himself. 

158 


TODDIE 

Toddie  glared.  "  You  think  I  'm  drunk?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  I  wouldna  go  so  far  as  to  say  that." 

"Cause  why?  Cause  you're  afraid.  You'll  not 
find  me  afraid.  I  'm  afraid  of  nobody.  If  ye  're 
wantin'  to  fight  — " 

"  No,  no,"  protested  Tarn  hastily. 

"  Weel,  then,  dinna  sit  there  contradictin'  me,  for 
I  '11  no'  stand  it.  I  canna  abide  women,  ye  know  that 
weel  enough.  I  'm  no'  ashamed  o'  ma  opeenions ;  but 
it  doesna  become  a  man  to  be  obstinate.  Na,  na. 
As  you  was  sayin',  we  're  all  the  work  o'  God's  hands, 
men  and  women  alike;  and  I  canna  doubt  He  felt  a 
sort  o'  pride  when  He  made  her.  If  you  're  ma 
friend,  you  '11  swear  to  that." 

"  I  '11  swear  to  onythin'  ye  like,  Toddie ;  but  who 
is  she?" 

Partially  mollified,  Toddie  gazed  at  his  guest  with 
an  air  of  profound  mystery:  then  rose  unsteadily  to 
his  feet. 

"  I  '11  let  ye  into  the  secret,"  he  hiccoughed  confi- 
dentially, steadying  himself  with  the  aid  of  the  table. 
*'  She  's  —  she  's  a  woman." 

"  Hoots,  I  could  ha'  told  — " 

"  A  woman  o'  principles  I  mean,"  continued  Tod- 
die. "  I  respect  her.  She  respects  me.  We  both 
respects  each  other.  We  stand  firm.  D  'ye  see  ?  " 

Rashly  withdrawing  his  hand  in  order  to  empha- 
159 


TODDIE 

size  this  statement,  he  came  perilously  near  to  falling, 
but  recovering  his  equilibrium  with  an  effort,  he  drew 
himself  up,  gazed  with  maudlin  and  defiant  dignity 
at  the  spectator,  then  turning,  made  a  swift  and  suc- 
cessful descent  upon  the  bed. 

A  whine  of  eloquent  disappointment  rose  from  un- 
der the  table. 

"  Guid  sakes !  "  ejaculated  Toddie's  voice  from  the 
interior  of  the  recess.  "  Bob,  ma  man,  I  forgot  ye. 
I  'm  no  better  nor  a  selfish  beast.  Tarn,  are  ye  still 
there?" 

"  Aye,  Toddie." 

"  Will  ye  give  Bob  a  run  ?  He  '11  go  with  ye  if  I 
tell  him.  I  'm  that  sleepy.  Thank  ye,  Tarn.  Bob 
loves  ye  like  a  brither.  Goo'  night." 

"  Come  on,  Bob,"  said  Tarn. 


160 


CHAPTER  XVII 

FOR  the  matter  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  there  was 
silence  in  the  little  room.  The  Scottish  Sab- 
bath lay  heavy  on  the  gray  town,  hedging  it  about 
with  an  almost  tangible  atmosphere  of  pious  depres- 
sion. It  lay  like  a  pall  also  upon  the  spirits.  This 
seventh  day  struck  one  as  being  composed  of  differ- 
ent stuff  from  other  days  —  so  powerful  is  the  influ- 
ence of  mind  over  matter  —  as  though  it  had  volun- 
tarily cut  itself  off  from  their  society,  like  a  pious 
sheep  isolating  itself  from  six  ungodly  goats. 

Even  the  church  bells,  that  were  wont  to  ring  out 
so  merrily  for  a  wedding,  seemed  to  have  caught  the 
infection,  for  their  voices,  heard  faintly  in  Toddie's 
room,  tolled  an  invitation  as  lugubrious  as  though 
they  were  inviting  that  unregenerate  slumberer  to 
rise  and  attend  his  own  funeral. 

But  Toddie  was  beyond  their  influence,  far  away 
in  a  land  of  dreams.  Kindly  sleep  that  unseals  for 
rich  and  poor  alike  the  limitless  storehouse  of  the  de- 
sires, had  transported  him  to  an  enchanted  region,  a 
better  land,  or  rather  a  better  links,  where  caddies 
ceased  from  carrying,  and  bachelors  were  at  rest. 
11  161 


TODDIE 

All  at  once,  with  a  start,  Toddie  woke  up. 

For  a  moment  he  lay  gazing  vacantly  at  the  roof 
of  the  box-bed,  unable  to  locate  his  surroundings, 
and  equally  unable  to  decide  whether  it  was  time  for 
breakfast  or  for  supper.  Then,  the  noise  that  had 
awakened  him  being  repeated,  and  resolving  itself  into 
a  sharp  knock  at  the  door,  he  muttered  to  himself: 
"  It 's  one  o'  the  neighbors,  he  '11  go  away  if  I  dinna 
let  on  I  'm  here." 

In  pursuance  of  these  tactics  he  lay  silent;  but  it 
appeared  that  the  visitor  —  whoever  he  might  be  — 
was  uncommonly  tenacious  of  his  purpose ;  for,  as 
Toddie  lay  listening,  he  heard  the  sharp  click  of  the 
latch,  the  door  opened,  then  closed,  and,  finally,  a 
firm  step  resounded  on  the  stone  floor. 

With  feelings  of  considerable  annoyance  the  mas- 
ter of  the  house  contrived  to  turn  upon  his  side  so 
that  he  might  peep  between  the  bed-curtains.  But 
no  sooner  had  he  done  so  than  all  breath  was  driven 
from  his  body.  For  there,  large,  imposing  and  black, 
stood  Devina. 

Fully  awake  now,  Toddie  stared  at  her,  a  prey  to 
petrifaction  as  rigid  as  though  her  handsome  head 
had  possessed  all  the  horrid  qualities  of  Medusa.  And 
to  gauge  fully  the  depth  and  the  height  of  Toddie's 
incredulity,  it  must  be  remembered  that  for  years  no 
foot  of  mortal  woman  had  dared  to  desecrate  the 
sanctity  of  this  his  virgin  citadel.  The  fumes  of 


TODDIE 

whisky  added  not  a  little  to  the  marvel  of  her  ap- 
pearance, for  she  trembled  in  a  haze  of  troubled  in- 
stability, slowly  undulating  in  a  species  of  mystic 
shadow-dance  wherein  not  only  she,  but  the  walls,  the 
floor,  the  ceiling,  and  every  single  article  of  furni- 
ture, took  part. 

The  situation  was  sufficiently  alarming.  Bob  had 
deserted  him.  He  was  poignantly  aware  of  being 
taken  unawares  —  of  looking  and  feeling  at  his  worst. 

At  this  his  conscience  smote  him.  It  was  all  very 
well  to  send  it  to  sleep  with  Scriptural  texts  in  De- 
vina's  absence,  but  in  her  presence  no  such  course  was 
possible.  Nothing  but  the  truth  could  live  when  con- 
fronted by  these  eyes,  calm,  clear,  and  inexorable  as 
the  truth  itself.  And,  alas,  the  truth  in  this  case 
was  very  ugly!  It  bore  stern  witness  against  him. 
He  was  drunk.  He  knew  it.  Everything  revolved. 
He  doubted  if  he  could  even  stand.  The  situation 
was  terrible. 

She  would  think  less  of  him.  Less?  That  was  a 
mild  word.  He  was  prepared  to  bet  a  penny  that  she 
would  despise  him.  At  that  he  squirmed  internally. 
Why  should  he  care  what  this  woman  thought  of 
him  ?  It  was  queer,  but  —  but  he  did.  He  could 
disguise  it  from  himself  no  longer.  Her  good  opin- 
ion was  very  precious  in  his  eyes. 

No  doubt  he  had  been  —  well  —  premature.  He 
had  posed  as  sober.  He  had  smilingly  accepted  her 

163 


TODDIE 

praise.  He  had  felt  pleased,  and  flattered,  and  happy 
under  a  halo  to  which  he  could  not  truthfully  lay 
claim.  It  was  all  Tarn's  fault  —  aye,  and  Solomon's. 
What  right  had  they  to  come  tempting  an  honest 
caddie?  And  that  Tarn  had  not  only  beguiled  him 
from  the  path  of  virtue,  but  had  sneaked  away  in  the 
hour  of  danger,  leaving  his  victim  to  face  the  conse- 
quences. Tarn  was  a  coward.  Yes,  Tarn  alone  was 
to  blame.  But  would  Devina  understand  that?  He 
doubted  it. 

Long  as  this  painful  reverie  takes  to  record,  it 
passed  with  rapidity  through  the  bemused  mind  of 
Toddie  as  he  lay  there  quaking  with  apprehension 
and  guilt.  One  idea  —  the  instinct  of  self-preserva- 
tion —  dominated  all  others,  for  he  realized  with  what 
little  clarity  was  left  to  him  that  his  one  hope  of 
safety  lay  in  absolute  silence  and  immobility. 

Swiftly  she  strode  to  and  fro.  "  What  the  deevil 
is  she  up  to  now?  "  thought  Toddie,  then  with  alarm, 
"  Ma  word,  if  she 's  no'  tryin'  to  clean  ma  verra 
room."  It  was  true.  Devina,  after  a  moment  of 
hesitation,  was  working  with  method  and  celerity,  her 
jacket  discarded,  her  arms  bare  to  the  elbow.  At  her 
touch  order  sprang  from  disorder.  Toddie  could 
hear  her  occasional  grunt  of  disgust  when  she  chanced 
upon  some  ancient  accumulation  of  rubbish,  or  some 
unwashed  garment  poked  behind  the  dresser  for 
safety.  He  suppressed  a  groan.  Reaching  the 

164 


TODDIE 

grandfather's  clock  she  paused,  broom  In  hand,  to 
inspect  a  "  comic  cut  "  which  its  owner  had  pinned 
to  its  venerable  frame.  In  another  moment  the  work 
of  art  had  joined  the  collection  on  the  floor.  Nor  is 
this  the  only  indignity  that  Toddie  had  to  suffer. 
There  was  worse  to  come.  His  socks  —  his  Sunday 
socks,  mark  you,  of  a  quality  so  superior  that  it 
would  have  been  the  height  of  extravagance  to  have 
subjected  them  to  the  wear  and  tear  of  the  wash-tub, 
were  removed  with  the  tongs! 

Nearer  and  nearer  she  came.  If  Toddie  had  dared 
to  stretch  out  a  hand  he  could  have  touched  her.  All 
at  once  she  paused,  straightened  her  hat,  gnawed  at 
her  underlip,  gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  bed.  Tod- 
die ceased  to  breathe.  Then,  suddenly,  there  was  a 
swift  forward  movement,  the  curtains  were  torn  aside 
—  and  all  was  over. 

To  do  Devina  justice,  she  was  the  more  taken 
aback  of  the  two.  With  a  loud  ejaculation  she  re- 
coiled at  least  a  yard.  But  Toddie,  cowering  low, 
gave  no  sign. 

"  You  're  there,"  she  cried. 

He  acquiesced  with  extreme  reluctance. 

"  What  are  ye  doin'  in  yer  bed  at  this  time  o'  day  ? 
Are  ye  ailin'  ?  " 

A  glimmer  of  hope  flashed  upon  the  situation,  but 
alas,  Toddie  vowed  once  more  to  compromising  ve- 
racity extinguished  it  at  once. 

165 


TODDIE 

"  No,"  he  muttered,  "  I  canna  say  I  'm  exactly 
ailin'.  Yet  — "  he  added  hopefully,  "  ma  legs  feels 
queer." 

In  spite  of  his  strenuous  efforts  to  enunciate  with 
distinctness,  his  speech  betrayed  him.  Suspicion 
awoke  in  Devina's  mind.  But  too  sadly  conversant 
with  the  symptoms  of  intoxication  —  had  not  her 
life  with  her  father  been  one  long,  unavailing  struggle 
to  cure  him  of  the  vice  ?  —  she  recognized  them  all 
in  the  helpless  figure  outstretched  before  her.  Her 
gorge  rose  in  disgust. 

"  You  're  drunk !  "  she  cried. 

"Dinna!"  protested  Toddie  earnestly,  jerking 
himself  to  a  sitting  posture  and  stretching  out  a  hand. 
"  Dinna  say  that,  it 's  —  it 's  only  that  I  wasna  ex- 
pectin'  visitors." 

She  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  gazing  at  him 
with  stern  and  irrevocable  condemnation,  her  head 
flung  back,  her  bosom  slightly  heaving,  her  hands 
still  grasping  the  broom  handle,  while  around  her  the 
dust  clouds  settled  slowly.  She  felt  that  her  mind 
was  made  up  at  once  and  forever.  And  truth  to  tell, 
it  was  no  delectable  object  that  quailed  before  her 
gaze,  for  drink  and  neglect  of  his  person  were  writ 
large  in  untidy  hair,  flushed  face,  bloodshot  eyes,  un- 
shaven chin,  even  in  the  high  water  mark  that  encir- 
cled his  collarless  neck,  and  in  his  trembling  and  out- 
stretched hand. 

166 


TODDIE 

"  I  wouldna  have  come,"  she  said  in  a  low  forced 
voice  that  vibrated  with  remorse,  "  but  I  wanted  you 
to  know  that  that  Major  o'  yours  is  comin'  to  his 
tea  again  to-day.  That  man  Herd  told  me  ye  lived 
here.  I  canna  think  what  made  me  come."  She 
broke  off,  visibly  overwhelmed  with  self-reproachful 
amazement.  "  I  thought  I  'd  find  a  decent,  sober, 
God-fearin'  man  who,  if  he  doesna  attend  the  Kirk, 
knows  at  least  how  to  honor  the  Sabbath  in  his  own 
house.  I  've  been  deceived,  but  I  '11  not  be  taken  in 
a  second  time.  Is  this  the  way  ye  read  your  Bible? 
Is  this  your  pretended  piety  ?  Is  this  your  hatred  of 
drink ! "  Her  gesture  enveloped  Toddie  with  a  wave 
of  unspeakable  scorn.  "  Shuttin'  yourself  up  alone 
and  drinkin'  yourself  drunk  in  yer  bed.  Shame  on 
ye!  Ma  father  whiles  came  home  drunk,  an'  a  sair 
affliction  it  was.  But  he  was  tempted  by  them  that 
should  have  known  better.  There  was  some  excuse 
for  him.  He  was  just  a  bairn,  and  couldna  say  no. 
But  you  — "  Again  Toddie  shrank,  and  again  the 
denunciatory  finger  nailed  him  to  the  pillory  of  the 
box-bed  — "  You!  There 's  no  excuse  for  you. 
None ! " 

The  torrent  of  her  reprobation  broke  over  him  as 
an  irresistible  surge  might  break  over  the  head  of  a 
swimmer.  It  took  his  breath  away.  His  muddled 
brain  was  in  no  condition  to  frame  excuses.  He  had 
indeed  a  trembling  idea  about  quoting  Solomon  in 

167 


TODDIE 

self-defense,  but  his  agitation  was  so  extreme  that  he 
could  not  remember  the  words.  Moreover,  he 
vaguely  felt  that  in  this  case  at  all  events  the  quota- 
tion was  on  the  face  of  it  inexact,  and  that  drink 
could  not  be  said  to  have  made  the  heart  of  man  re- 
joice. No,  as  he  had  not  only  made,  but  taken  to 
his  bed,  so  must  he  lie  in  it,  until  this  terrible  ordeal 
was  over. 

There  was  that  in  Devina's  manner  that  suggested 
more  than  her  words  conveyed.  In  the  tone  of  her 
voice  —  and  more  particularly  when  she  referred  to 
her  anticipation  of  finding  him  honoring  the  Sabbath 
—  there  had  sounded  a  note  of  disappointment  that 
might  almost  have  been  called  personal,  had  not  its 
expression  been  so  unconscious  as  to  elude  self-knowl- 
edge. It  seemed  as  though  something  too  formless, 
too  undefined  for  speech  and  almost  for  thought  had 
sprung  suddenly  into  being,  realized  its  futility,  and 
burst  into  bitterness,  becoming  as  it  were  a  lash  where- 
with she  scourged  not  only  the  cause  of  her  delusion, 
but  also,  and  with  still  greater  severity,  her  deluded 
self. 

It  was  worse  than  he  had  feared  —  far  worse.  His 
most  secret  apprehension  had  come  to  pass.  She 
despised  him. 

Bewildered,  smarting,  helpless,  he  stared  up  into 
168 


TODDIE 

her  stern  countenance,  his  mouth  twitching,  his  blood- 
shot eyes  suffused  with  involuntary  tears. 

The  silence  that  ensued  was  of  long  duration. 
Faint  sounds  stole  from  the  street  to  the  room,  un- 
heeded by  either  occupant.  The  light  that  struggled 
in  through  the  dirty  little  window  was  momentarily 
becoming  less.  It  dimly  showed  Toddie's  face,  white 
and  drawn,  and  Devina's  dark  and  motionless  figure. 
The  gathering  dusk  weighted  with  the  sadness  that 
attends  the  death  of  each  short-lived  winter's  day, 
seemed  the  material  counterpart  of  the  depression 
that  lay  heavy  upon  these  strangely  assorted  friends. 

Devina's  mind  no  less  than  Toddie's  was  in  a  tur- 
moil. She  asked  herself  questions  to  which  there 
seemed  no  satisfactory  answers.  She  had  said  her 
say,  why  did  she  not  go?  What  kept  her  standing 
here  in  this  man's  room?  Of  one  thing  she  was  dis- 
tressfully aware  —  his  silence  filled  her  with  com- 
punction. She  had  nerved  herself  for  vociferous 
vindication,  for  maudlin  anger,  even  for  drunken 
abuse.  Had  these  come  she  would  have  met  them 
with  the  contempt  they  would  have  merited. 

But  this  continued  silence  took  her  aback.  In  it, 
and  in  his  appearance,  there  was  something  tremulous, 
pathetic.  It  made  her  feel  as  though  he  were  a  child, 
or  a  dumb  animal  smitten  undeservedly. 

The  justice  of  her  cause  seemed  to  avail  her  noth- 
169 


TODDIE 

ing.  It  was  almost  as  if  she,  and  not  he,  were  to 
blame.  This  unforeseen,  and  indeed  unmerited,  turn- 
ing of  the  tables  galled  her.  Still  actuated  by  dis- 
gust, she  hardened  her  heart  against  compassion. 
He  deserved  all  she  had  said  and  more.  She  tried  to 
persuade  herself  that  his  very  silence  and  tearfulness 
was  a  pose,  an  attempt  to  put  her  in  the  wrong.  And 
though  she  did  not  quite  succeed  in  believing  this,  yet 
the  mere  suggestion  strengthened  her  in  her  resolve 
to  "  stand  no  nonsense."  Rousing  herself  with  an  ef- 
fort, she  again  spoke  to  him. 

Toddie,  Listening  to  the  deep  voice,  striving  to  dis- 
tinguish the  dark  figure  that  blurred  and  became  one 
with  the  surrounding  gloom,  painfully  seeking  to  un- 
derstand, followed  the  drift  of  her  meaning  rather 
than  her  actual  words. 

It  appeared  that  his  conduct  had  confirmed  the  un- 
favorable opinions  she  cherished  towards  men  —  that 
he  was  a  drunken  ne'er-do-weel  —  that  his  room  was 
little  better  than  a  pigsty,  and  his  habits  and  person 
a  disgrace  to  the  Scottish  nation  —  that  no  self-re- 
specting woman  would  demean  herself  by  associating 
with  him  —  and  that  finally  as  she,  Devina,  saw  no 
hope  of  his  amending  his  ways,  all  question  of  further 
partnership  was  at  an  end. 

Her  voice  still  vibrated  dreadfully  in  his  ears  — 
his  heart  still  sank  to  great  and  greater  depths  of 
despondency,  but  it  was  not  till  he  heard  the  sound 

170 


TODDIE 

of  the  closing  door  that  Toddie  realized  that  she  had 
left  him  in  anger.  And  even  then  he  could  not  quite 
credit  her  departure,  but  lay  silent  and  apprehensive, 
half  expecting  her  to  return  to  the  attack. 

But  the  silence  that  followed  was  profound.  It 
seemed  strange  and  unnatural,  weighted  with  inde- 
scribable fatality.  Beneath  it  Toddie  lay  engulfed 
as  a  drowned  man  might  lie  buried  forever  in  the  ir- 
reclaimable depths  of  the  sea. 

No  animosity  towards  his  departed  guest  found 
place  in  his  thoughts.  He  still  admired  her.  If 
possible,  he  respected  her  even  more.  Her  moral 
character  seemed  to  soar  above  him,  unattainable, 
incomprehensible.  But  for  the  mere  fact  of  its  ex- 
istence he  could  at  all  events  feel  grateful.  It  was  he 
himself  who  had  fallen  in  his  estimation ;  and  as  he 
looked  upon  the  picture  so  ruthlessly  painted  by  De- 
vina,  and  saw  himself  for  the  first  time  in  glaring  and 
objectionable  colors,  a  hearty  contempt  for  the  man 
he  had  been,  mingled  with  lively  remorse,  and  a  long- 
ing to  be  better. 

This  latter  impulse  was  altogether  undisciplined 
—  it  was  a  startling  and  novel  idea  —  it  was  forced 
to  justify  its  existence  by  combating  a  lifetime  of 
easy-going  indifference  as  regards  all  moral  progres- 
sion whatsoever.  But  the  desire  to  do  something 
worthy  of  Devina's  friendship  was  in  itself  the  best 
antidote  to  the  discouragement  and  self-dissatisfac- 

171 


TODDIE 

tion  that  overwhelmed  him.  But  what  could  he  do? 
Pressing  his  hands  to  his  burning  head,  he  tried  to 
think. 

All  at  once  he  rolled  from  his  bed  and  essayed  to 
stand.  To  his  astonishment  he  found  he  could  do 
so  quite  easily.  Intoxication  had  fled. 

As  he  stood  there  in  the  gathering  dusk  he  was 
conscious  of  unusual  gravity,  and  as  though  he  were 
face  to  face  with  some  important  crisis,  not  to  be  set 
aside.  The  unfamiliar  aspect  of  his  room  added  to 
his  solemnity.  It  was  uncannily  tidy,  with  a  neatness 
and  order  not  of  this  life. 

Scarcely  aware  of  the  act,  he  touched  the  duster 
of  which  Devina  had  made  use,  touched  it  fearfully, 
yet  reverently,  as  though  within  its  folds  there  still 
lurked  some  memory  of  the  woman  who  despised  him. 

For  long  he  stood  there,  the  duster  in  his  hands, 
plunged  in  thought.  Then,  suddenly,  as  one  who 
makes  up  his  mind,  he  turned  to  the  cupboard  in  the 
wall  and  took  therefrom  a  bottle.  As  his  fingers 
closed  round  its  neck,  the  cool  familiar  contact,  elo- 
quent of  rosy  and  Bacchanalian  hours  —  who  shall 
say  how  many  —  attempted  to  shake  his  resolution. 
But  the  time  had  gone  for  such  weakness.  With  a 
jerk  of  his  head  he  marched  resolutely  to  the  fireplace, 
and  poured  the  entire  contents  upon  the  ashes. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

TO  converse  with  a  dog  is  oftentimes  more  satis- 
factory than  to  converse  with  a  human  being. 
It  is  to  enjoy  all  the  freedom  of  solitude,  yet  not  be 
deprived  of  the  comfort  of  companionship.  It  is  to 
unbosom  the  fyeart  of  those  feelings  that  lie  closest  to 
it  —  to  be  sad  or  gay,  practical  or  sentimental,  child- 
ish or  grown-up  as  the  mood  sways  us,  without  fear 
of  censure  or  ridicule.  It  is  to  find  always  the  same 
faithful  friend,  one  who  will  neither  argue  nor  con- 
tradict, a  silent  listener,  a  ready  sympathizer.  It  is 
never  to  be  disappointed. 

Under  such  golden  conditions  what  wonder  that  the 
natural  man  peeps  out,  throws  off  all  disguise,  all 
reticence,  all  self-consciousness,  reveals  the  texture  of 
his  secret  thoughts,  the  very  fabric  of  his  inmost 
soul? 

Such  friends  meet  midway  in  the  mind's  infinity, 
between  the  dog-star  and  the  human  planet,  in  some 
happy  enchanted  sphere  of  mutual  love  and  compre- 
hension. For  a  while  the  dog  discards  his  dogdom, 
and  the  man  his  humanity.  The  former  condescends 
to  be  almost  a  man,  the  latter  succeeds  in  becoming 

173 


TODDIE 

nearly  a  dog.  Sympathy,  that  divine  knitter  of  kin- 
dred souls,  touches  them  with  her  wand.  The  man, 
forgetful  of  the  devious  contortions  of  civilized 
speech,  becomes  simple,  sincere,  transparent  —  vir- 
tues derived  without  a  doubt  from  the  noble  and  inar- 
ticulate soul  of  his  companion  —  while  the  dog,  for 
his  part,  lending  himself  generously  to  the  occasion, 
condones  a  world  of  unnecessary  and,  to  him,  incom- 
prehensible sound  for  the  sake  of  the  kindness  from 
which  it  springs. 

Show  me  the  man  who  can  talk  to  his  dog,  and  I 
will  show  you  a  good  fellow.  Not  one  who  flings 
him  a  hasty  word  —  of  which  it  were  well  if  both  were 
ignorant  —  a  peremptory  command,  or  even  a  luke- 
warm endearment.  These  will  never  plead  for  him  at 
the  bar  of  that  silent  judge.  Not  one  who  throws 
him  the  bone  of  an  idea  from  which  he  himself  has 
devoured  the  meat  —  but  one  who  offers  this  partner 
of  his  joys  and  sorrows  a  conversational  cut  from 
the  juiciest  portion  of  the  intellectual  roast. 

Few  men  can  talk  to  their  dogs.  Toddie  was  one 
of  the  number.  His  conversations  with  Bob  were 
long  and  intimate.  They  sounded  the  whole  gamut 
of  ideas  of  which  Toddie  was  capable.  Into  that  at- 
tentive ear  he  had  poured  more  confidences  than  ever 
were  listened  to  by  the  connubial  pillow.  If  ever  a 
dog  were  deeply  learned  in  his  master's  mind,  it  was 
Bob.  From  the  study  of  sheep  to  the  study  of  hu- 

174 


TODDIE 

manity  is  not  such  a  far  cry  as  might  be  supposed. 
The  qualities  which  Bob  had  acquired  stood  him  in 
good  stead.  He  brought  to  his  new  task  a  keenness 
of  observation,  a  leniency,  and  above  all  a  patience 
rare  even  among  the  best  of  shepherds.  Nothing  is 
ever  wasted.  Even  his  tenderness  towards  newly- 
born  lambs  was  transferred  whole-heartedly  to  Tod- 
die. 

As  for  our  hero,  he  was  convinced  that  Bob  under- 
stood, if  not  the  precise  meaning,  at  all  events  the 
drift  of  every  word  he  uttered.  His  explanation  to 
Tarn  of  the  doctrine  of  love  was  not  so  metaphoric  as 
they  both  had  surmised.  It  literally  warmed  him  to 
pour  out  his  soul  before  his  shaggy  comforter,  to 
look  down  and  behold  the  bright  eyes  instinct  with 
intelligence  and  devotion,  to  note  the  ragged  ears 
cocked  to  an  angle  of  flattering  attention,  to  hear  the 
tender  thud  of  the  tail  upon  the  floor.  Under  these 
influences  he  sometimes  taxed  the  good-nature  of 
Bob  far  beyond  the  limits  of  friendship.  Thus,  upon 
the  day  when  he  had  discovered  the  Major,  Bob  was 
compelled  to  witness,  if  not  actually  to  take  part  in, 
an  orgy  distressing  to  one  by  nature  addicted  to 
water;  and  on  the  night  succeeding  the  intrusion  of 
Devina,  Bob  was  held  forcibly  in  conversation  long 
after  the  hour  at  which  he  was  usually  at  liberty  to 
seek  his  bed.  From  which  the  reader  will  infer  that 
even  friendship  is  not  without  its  drawbacks. 

175 


TODDIE 

Now,  I  defy  you  to  live  on  terms  of  intimacy  with 
a  fellow  being  and  not  become  instantly  aware  of  a 
change  in  their  mental  outlook.  The  most  insignifi- 
cant thought,  the  most  trivial  action,  spreads  its  con- 
sequences like  a  stone  thrown  into  water;  how  much 
more  noticeable  then  a  revolution  of  the  soul,  a  moral 
earthquake  that  overthrows  all  familiar  landmarks? 
Bob,  who,  had  he  consented  to  betray  his  master's  se- 
crets —  a  treachery  of  which  we  know  well  he  was 
incapable  —  could  have  told  you  from  the  mere  sound 
of  the  beloved  footsteps  whether  or  no  Toddie  had 
paid  a  visit  to  the  public,  was  not  likely  to  remain 
in  ignorance  of  a  misfortune  that  changed  his  mas- 
ter in  the  wag  of  a  tail  from  a  joyous,  happy-go- 
lucky,  devil-may-care,  wine-bibbing  little  caddie  into 
as  brooding,  melancholy,  and  sober  a  man  as  ever  car- 
ried a  golf -bag  round  the  links  of  St.  Andrews. 

Even  had  he  not  been  taken  into  Toddie's  confi- 
dence —  as  already  related  —  upon  the  memorable  oc- 
casion of  Devina's  visit  —  though  if  the  truth  were 
known  he  had  been  so  overcome  with  sleep  during  that 
interminable  soliloquy  that  he  could  not  afterwards 
remember  a  single  word  —  there  were  yet  a  thousand 
signs  of  regeneration  to  open  his  eyes.  Whether  or 
no  he  attributed  the  calamitous  change  directly  to 
Devina  is  a  matter  of  conjecture.  He  himself,  with 
the  exquisite  tact  that  was  one  of  his  most  chivalrous 
qualities,  never  breathed  a  syllable  upon  the  subject 

176 


—  never  even  gave  Toddie  occasion  to  suspect  that 
he  linked  his  name  with  that  of  a  woman.  A  human 
confidant  would  have  ejaculated  triumphantly,  "  I 
told  you  so."  Bob  merely  yawned.  The  former 
might  possibly  have  laughed.  Bob  did  not  even 
smile.  The  man  might  have  resented  Toddie's  fits  of 
depression.  The  dog  only  saw  in  them  a  reason  for 
redoubling  his  attentions,  for  creeping  closer  to  Tod- 
die's  side,  for  thrusting  his  nose  with  greater  fre- 
quency into  Toddie's  apathetic  hand. 

O  Dogs,  angels  in  canine  form,  from  what  heav- 
enly land  do  ye  come  to  bear  with  our  infirmities,  to 
comfort  and  console! 

But,  while  preserving  his  habitual  unclouded  de- 
meanor, deep  in  his  honest  heart  Bob  was  anxious. 
From  his  own  particular  corner  by  the  fire  he  watched 
Toddie's  every  movement  with  a  very  natural  and 
affectionate  apprehension.  Not  that  he  deduced 
melancholia  from  sobriety  —  that  was  beyond  him, 
but  he  vaguely  felt  that  something  was  wrong.  He 
missed  the  old  hilarity,  so  characteristic  of  his  mas- 
ter, he  missed,  too,  the  brightening,  if  unsteady  eye, 
he  mourned  the  jovial,  if  inebriated  voice.  He  missed 
more  than  these.  One  night  he  missed  his  dinner. 
Toddie,  plunged  in  the  chaos  of  his  own  distracting 
thoughts,  had  forgotten  to  feed  either  man  or  beast. 
There  is  a  limit  to  all  things.  Bob  decided  that  this 

was  the  limit.     His  vociferous  reproaches  awoke  the 
12 


TODDIE 

echoes  of  Logic's  Lane,  and  brought  down  Toddie's 
wrath  upon  his  innocent  head.  Of  course  they  made 
it  up  directly,  as  became  friends.  Bob  was  forgiven 
for  Toddie's  oversight,  and  humbly  testified  his  grati- 
tude. The  meal  finished,  they  settled  down  into  one 
of  their  usual  postprandial  chats. 

"  Bob,"  said  Toddie,  as  that  favored  individual 
hopped  lightly  on  to  his  knee  with  the  assured  air  of 
one  positive  of  welcome,  "  Bob,  I  do  believe  ye  care 
for  me." 

Bob's  whole  body  wriggled  an  affirmative. 

Toddie  tucked  one  arm  round  him,  whereupon  the 
dog,  laying  his  rough  head  against  his  master's  chest, 
looked  up  at  him  with  an  expression  so  sentimental 
that  it  would  have  prompted  smiles  did  it  not  betray 
unalienable  love  and  fidelity. 

"  Aye,"  muttered  Toddie,  "  you  're  not  one  to  give 
a  poor  man  the  go-by.  If  I  was  to  rob  a  kirk  ye 
would  think  none  the  less  of  me,  eh  ?  " 

This  sacrilegious  idea,  far  from  scandalizing,  left 
Bob  totally  unmoved. 

"  A  dog 's  a  queer  thing,"  grunted  his  master, 
comforted,  and  pulling  the  yellow  ears  gently ; 
"  drunk  or  sober,  he  's  ay  yer  friend.  What  d'  ye  get 
here,  ye  wee  besom,  to  make  ye  like  that?  Shut  up 
most  o'  the  day,  a  bone  for  yer  dinner,  a  sup  o'  par- 
ritch  for  yer  tea,  a  bare  board  for  yer  bed.  What 's 
that?  Mony  a  poor  body  in  jail  has  better.  And 

178 


TODDIE 

jet,  there  ye  are,  waggin'  yer  silly  tail  aff  when  ye  see 
me  come  hame.  Bob,  Bob,  that 's  no'  the  way  o'  the 
world  1" 

He  sighed,  shook  his  head,  then  continued  in  tones 
of  nai've  and  modest  wonder: 

"  What  can  ye  see  in  me  ?  What  is  't  ye  admire  ? 
It  beats  me.  It  canna  be  the  ootside  onyway.  Nae- 
body  in  their  senses  would  call  me  bonnie  —  though 
between  oorselves,  Bob,  I  've  seen  worse.  What 
then?  It  must  be  the  heart,  as  I  telt  Tarn.  Aye, 
ye  look  deep.  Is  that  it?  And  what  d'  ye  see  there? 
Ye  think  I  care  for  ye?  Man,  ye  're  just  a  wee  mass 
o'  conceit  frae  yer  impident  nose  to  yer  senseless 
tail!" 

A  pause,  during  which  Bob  and  Toddie  continued 
to  gaze  affectionately  at  each  other. 

"  Ma  word ! "  exclaimed  the  latter  suddenly. 
"  What 's  this  ?  Aye,  gray  hairs  f  I  never  noticed 
them  before.  Here  —  and  here."  He  closely  in- 
spected the  upturned  muzzle,  then  patted  the  patient 
head.  "  Weel,  weel,  you  and  me  just  sit  and  watch 
each  ither  growin'  auld,  Bob,  and  mind  the  days  lang 
syne  when  we  was  young.  Aye,  it  comes  tae  us  all, 
man  or  dog.  But,  hoots,  what  does  it  matter  when 
we  love  each  ither.  It  just  draws  us  nearer.  Ye 
feel  that,  eh?  I  was  certain  o'  it.  And  yet — "  his 
voice  sank  to  a  hoarse  and  confidential  whisper  — "  I 
confess  to  you  that  when  I  see  Tarn  shamblin'  after 

179 


TODDIE 

the  gentlemen  —  me  mindin'  what  like  he  was  —  says 
I  to  maself :  *  That  '11  be  you,  Toddie,  in  a  matter 
o'  twenty  year.'  Aye,  it 's  a  fearsome  thought,  but 
you  '11  be  auld  too  and  that 's  a  consolation.  Here ! 
Sit  up  till  I  get  oot  ma  baccy." 

His  pipe  in  full  blast,  Toddie  relapsed  into  a 
brown  study.  Bob  winked  lazily  at  the  fire,  then 
gradually  closed  his  eyes.  For  some  time  there  was 
silence  in  the  little  room,  broken  only  by  the  ticking 
of  the  clock.  Then,  all  at  once,  Bob  was  aroused 
from  his  light  doze  by  feeling  the  broad  chest  against 
which  his  head  was  resting,  rise  and  fall.  Drowsily 
he  cocked  one  ear.  Again  the  phenomenon  occurred. 
At  this  both  ears  rose  simultaneously. 

"Aye,  aye,"  sighed  Toddie.     "All  over." 

So  full  of  despondency  was  this  remark  that  it 
shook  the  listener  both  physically  and  mentally.  The 
voice  continued: 

"  Never  speak  to  me  again.  Oot  of  ma  life.  I 
never  thought  —  I  wish  —  I  'd  give  onything  so  I 
would.  But  — " 

There  ensued  another  lengthy  pause,  then  Bob, 
listening  anxiously,  heard  again  his  master's  voice 
and,  as  much  as  a  dog  could,  wondered  at  the  sad  and 
wistful  pathos  of  its  tones. 

"  If  I  'd  only  kenned  it  before.  But  —  I  was 
blind.  That  bonnie  day  on  the  rocks  —  I  never 
thought  it  at  the  time  —  but  —  I  was  happy.  I  see 

180 


TODDIE 

it  fine  now.  If  she  'd  only  cared  that  woman  could 
ha'  done  onything  she  liked  with  me!  Just  ony- 
thing.  It 's  amazin' !  I  canna  take  ma  thoughts  aff 
her.  That  voice  o'  hers  —  aye,  and  that  glint  o'  her 
een !  I  never  imagined  onything  in  the  world  could 
be  sae  bonnie.  Ah,  why  canna  it  be  all  over  again? 
Why?  Why?  If  she  could  just  come  back  the  once. 
Ma  God !  I  'd  make  her  see.  But,  what 's  the  use  1 
She 's  gone.  She  '11  never  come  back.  It 's  too 
late ! " 

His  voice,  scarcely  raised  above  a  whisper,  struck 
a  note  of  misery  keen  and  personal.  For  the  mo- 
ment he  had  forgotten  his  listener  —  his  surround- 
ings —  forgotten  everything  save  Devina  and  that 
by  his  own  fault  he  had  lost  her. 

Bob,  face  to  face  with  a  sorrow  he  could  not 
understand,  whimpered  softly.  Toddie  drew  him 
closer. 

"  Wee  mannie,  ye  feel  for  me.  But  ye  canna  help 
me.  If  ye  could  only  speak  now,  ye  'd  say  a  word 
for  me.  Ye  'd  tell  her  I  wasna  all  bad.  I  believe 
she  'd  listen  to  you  —  she  likes  ye.  And,  here !  — 
ye  mustna  judge  her  by  what  I  told  ye  she  said  the 
ither  night.  She  was  upset,  and  no  wonder.  Ye 
see,  Bob,  there  's  just  women  and  women.  Some  on 
them  drag  a  man  doon  —  and  ithers  just  lift  him 
up.  That 's  her  way,  and  man,  it 's  bonnie.  Men 
are  what  women  make  o'  them,  I  can  see  that  now. 

181 


TODDIE 

And  me  —  I  've  had  nae  chance.     Ah,  Bob,  if  ma 
mither  had  only  been  like  her !  " 

Bob  could  no  longer  restrain  himself.  There  he 
was  on  his  hind  legs  on  Toddie's  knee,  his  nose  whis- 
tling out  of  pure  sympathy. 

"  Doon !  "  muttered  his  master.  "  Doon !  — 
doon!" 

But  Bob  was  struggling  to  insert  his  head  between 
the  grimy  muffler  and  the  unwashed  neck. 

"  I  wonder  ye  care  to  touch  me,"  cried  Toddie  in 
a  burst  of  unwonted  passion.  "  I  'm  a  disgrace. 
Them  's  her  words." 

But  sublimely  indifferent  to  female  prejudice,  Bob 
was  now  engaged  in  licking  enthusiastically. 

"  Ma  word !  "  cried  Toddie,  struck  with  a  bewilder- 
ing idea.  "  If  he  's  no'  tryin'  to  clean  me  hisself." 

In  sudden  shame  he  regained  his  feet.  Bob,  ab- 
ruptly dislodged,  watched  him  with  renewed  anxiety. 
What  was  this?  What  meant  this  unusual  pouring 
out  of  water,  this  application  of  soap?  He  had 
speedy  cause  to  lament  his  attempt  at  consolation. 

"  Your  turn,"  cried  the  metamorphosed  Toddie, 
his  face  glowing  —  the  result  of  unusual  friction. 
"  Come  oot  o'  that.  Ye  needna  hide." 

Ten  minutes  later  a  wiser  and  a  sadder  dog,  damp, 
depressed,  and  disconcertingly  clean,  sat  at  the  fire 
and  shivered. 

182 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TALL,  statuesque,  commanding,  framed  by  the 
semi-drawn  curtains,  Devina  stood  motionless 
in  the  window  of  Charity's  bedroom.  A  westerly 
gale  was  at  its  height,  accentuating  the  sadness  of 
vast  and  desolate  spaces  over  which  the  wintry  twi- 
light had  already  fallen. 

There  was  something  elemental  and  even  vaguely 
terrifying  in  the  unfettered  wind,  in  its  loud  vio- 
lence, its  mysterious  viewlessness,  its  sudden  irra- 
tional lulls,  its  swift  and  savage  assaults.  Some- 
thing infinitely  pathetic,  infinitely  mournful  too  in 
the  writhing  of  the  tormented  earth  —  the  trees 
wildly  tossing  their  devastated  branches,  the  very 
grass  appearing  to  be  shaken  by  convulsive  and  un- 
controllable shudders. 

The  ragged  and  low-flying  clouds  swept  the  sky 
with  their  wings.  They  fled  seawards  —  from  the 
dying  West,  to  the  East  already  dead.  Swiftly  and 
without  intermission  they  streamed,  like  the  rout  of 
an .  innumerable  army.  The  earth  was  darkened  by 
their  passage. 

183 


TODDIE 

They  trailed  their  mournful  shadows  likewise  over 
the  face  of  the  woman  at  the  window,  alternately 
obscuring  and  revealing  the  stern  dark  features  that 
unconsciously  claimed  kindred  with  their  gloom. 

And  not  their  material  aspect  only,  but  their  spirit 
of  lamentable  and  eternal  unrest  —  the  spirit  that 
fled  from  the  day  to  seek  refuge  in  the  night  — 
seemed  to  creep  close  in  this  hour  of  premature  dark- 
ness, close  till  it  touched  her  life. 

Her  thoughts  were  sad  —  though  her  expression 
was  less  melancholy  than  perturbed  —  too  sad  for 
speech,  thoughts  that  but  a  little  while  ago  had  forced 
her  to  close  a  window  hastily  upon  the  distant  sound 
of  a  barrel-organ,  betrayed  into  emotion,  her  eyes 
full  of  sudden  and  inexplicable  tears.  A  sense  of 
loss,  a  wistful  and  hopeless  yearning,  a  tenderness 
deep,  deep  down,  may  feed  upon  a  woman's  heart 
every  day,  yet  remain  unsuspected,  because  unex- 
pressed. 

As  she  stood  there,  one  hand  upon  the  curtain- 
fringe,  the  blackness  of  her  dress  merging  into  the 
blackness  of  the  shadowy  room,  but  her  face  showing 
faintly  white  against  the  growing  obscurity,  her  mind 
drifted  hither  and  thither  upon  a  sea  of  painful  and 
agitated  thought.  The  memory  of  two  men  held 
her  an  unwilling  captive  —  two  men  —  Archie  and 
Toddie  —  the  man  she  had  loved,  and  the  man  she 
despised. 

184 


TODDIE 

For  some  time  they  had  obsessed  her,  though  when 
mistress  of  her  thoughts  she  drove  them  indignantly 
from  her  mind.  With  the  insidiousness  of  persistent 
and  unwelcome  recollections  they  took  advantage  of 
her  occupations,  when  her  attention  was  engaged 
upon  other  matters,  to  create  a  vacuum  which  they 
alone  could  fill.  Entirely  without  her  consent,  and 
almost  entirely  without  her  knowledge,  the  demon 
of  thought  busied  itself  with  these  two  men,  recalling 
their  actions,  words,  looks,  comparing  them  men- 
tally and  physically ;  brooding  over  the  memory  of 
the  one  —  a  something  shameful,  that  must  be  buried 
—  puzzling  itself  fruitlessly  over  the  other  —  a  some- 
thing contemptible,  not  worth  burying  —  racked  by 
regrets,  inflamed  by  scornful  recollections,  tormented 
by  doubts  and  tremulous  indecisions. 

Waking  therefrom,  as  from  a  vague  yet  troubling 
dream,  Devina  wondered  at  herself  with  an  immense, 
an  incredulous,  and  a  sternly  self-accusing  amaze- 
ment. What!  She,  Devina,  to  occupy  herself  with 
thoughts  of  men !  A  wave  of  burning  self-reproach 
inundated  her  face.  Her  conscience  convicted  her 
of  indelicacy,  nay,  more,  of  hypocrisy.  Had  she 
not  that  very  morning  poured  the  vials  of  her  scorn 
over  the  head  of  the  house-parlormaid,  because,  be- 
cause, forsooth,  that  misguided  and  love-lorn  maiden 
was  discovered  in  the  act  of  concealing  a  photograph 
within  the  bosom  of  her  dress? 

185 


TODDIE 

"  Is  that  you,  Devina?  "  exclaimed  a  voice. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Charity." 

The  girl  approached  the  window,  'and  standing  by 
Devina's  side  looked  outwards  at  the  storm. 

"  How  dark  it 's  getting,"  she  said. 

The  sound  of  the  sympathetic  voice,  with  a  cer- 
tain resonant  timber  in  it,  the  audible  presentation 
of  Charity's  personality,  soothed  Devina.  It  stirred, 
as  ever,  to  quicker  and  more  conscious  life  the  cur- 
rent of  inarticulate  devotion  that  flowed  from  her 
heart  to  her  young  mistress.  To  Devina  this  girl 
was  more  than  a  sweet  and  gracious  presence  —  more 
even  than  an  outlet  for  pent-up  affection.  She  rep- 
resented all  that  was  good  in  an  evil  world. 

The  wind  fell  upon  the  house,  screamed  down  the 
chimneys,  beat  as  with  insistent  and  passionate  hands 
upon  the  windows,  then,  baffled  at  every  point,  was 
heard  to  bluster  away  into  the  darkness. 

The  two  women  listened,  Charity  uneasily,  Devina 
with  indifference. 

"  I  hope  no  one  is  at  sea  to-night,"  said  the  former 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  No  one,"  referring  presumably  to  creatures  mas- 
culine, the  latter  snorted. 

"  What  were  you  doing  when  I  came  in  ?  "  ques- 
tioned Charity,  after  an  interval. 

"  I  was  closin'  up." 

"  Why  don't  you  leave  that  to  Jessie  ?  " 
186 


TODDIE 

"  Jessie ! "  The  memory  of  the  photograph 
rankled  afresh.  "  Her !  A  silly,  useless,  flighty 
thing.  Do  you  think  she  goes  round  the  house  when 
it  rains  ?  No'  likely !  The  ither  day  the  water  was 
just  pourin'  in  at  the  bathroom  window,  and  what 
do  ye  think  I  found  her  doin'?  Carryin'  on  with 
the  butcher.  Her  that 's  engaged  to  the  plumber  — 
or  ought  to  be,"  added  Devina  grimly. 

Charity  smiled. 

"  But  you  '11  spoil  her  if  — " 

"  Spoil  her?  Me  spoil  her?  "  Devina  gave  vent 
to  a  short  and  mirthless  laugh.  "  You  wouldna  have 
said  that  if  ye  could  have  heard  me.  She  '11  no' 
waste  the  butcher's  time  again,  I  'm  thinkin'.  His 
time  's  meat.  Spoil  her?  Hoots,  she  's  the  one  that 
does  all  the  spoilin'.  Did  she  not  spoil  the  tap  in 
the  pantry?  '  Makin'  work  for  yer  plumber?'  says 
I.  And  what  a  way  to  take  a  friendly  remark  — 
cryin'  like  a  big  baby  !  " 

"  I  wish  you  got  on  better  with  the  others." 

"  I  wish  I  did.  But  there  's  some  things  I  canna 
do,  even  to  please  you.  It 's  —  it 's  the  way  I  'm 
made.  I  canna  stand  their  silliness.  Aye,  and  their 
waste.  What  servants  are  comin'  to,  beats  me. 
They  take  no  pride  in  their  work  —  only  in  their 
faces.  Says  Cook :  '  Blue 's  ma  color.'  Did  ye 
ever  hear  the  like  o'  that,  Miss  Charity." 

Charity  laughed. 

187 


TODDIE 

"  Aye,  ye  can  laugh !  Nae  doot  it 's  funny, 
though  I  canna  see  it.  Thinkin'  of  her  color  with 
her  dinner  plates  all  dirty.  Na,  na,  ye  needna  blame 
me  for  doin'  their  work,  for  I  just  canna  help  it.  I 
ken  other  f olks's  duty,  and  please  God,  I  '11  do  it." 

A  silence  ensued,  broken  only  by  the  wind  and 
the  fitful  patter  of  raindrops  upon  the  streaming 
panes. 

"  There  can  have  been  no  golf  this  afternoon,"  said 
Charity. 

"  No,"  assented  Devina  sourly. 

Another  silence,  during  which  Devina  struck  with 
a  sudden  idea  gazed  with  anxiety  at  her  young  mis- 
tress ;  but  the  growing  dusk,  like  a  kindly  and  con- 
cealing veil,  shrouded  Charity's  features. 

"She's  thinkin'  o'  that  Major,"  thought  Devina, 
longing  yet  fearing  to  question. 

A  feeling  of  impotence  oppressed  her  —  the  im- 
potence of  one  forgotten,  of  one  who  holds  the 
body  with  loving  and  jealous  eyes,  but  is  powerless 
to  enchain  the  heart. 

"  I  wonder  — " 

"  Aye." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Devina  did  not 
dare  to  move,  much  less  to  speak.  It  was  as  though 
she  watched  a  bird,  nearing  her,  unconscious  of  her 
presence. 

"  I  wonder,"  continued  the  girl's  voice,  barely 
188 


TODDIE 

audible  in  the  windy  dusk,  "  I  wonder  what  it  feels 
like  to  live  alone." 

"  Umph !  there  would  be  naebody  to  bother  ye." 

"And  no  one  to  love  you,  Devina." 

Silence. 

"  And  the  loneliness  of  it.  Just  think  —  to  go 
out  and  come  in  every  day,  and  no  one  to  care,  or  to 
ask  you  if  you  've  enjoyed  yourself."  She  paused, 
deep  in  thought,  then  suddenly :  "  Devina,  we  ought 
to  try  to  make  them  happy." 

"Guidsakeslwho?" 

"  The  people  who  live  alone.  We  might  ask  them 
to  tea." 

Devina  frowned  heavily. 

"  Ye  canna  do  that.  It  would  be  an  awful  ex- 
pense. If  ye  asked  all  the  lonely  folk  in  St.  An- 
drews to  their  tea  ye  would  have  to  take  the  Town 
Hall." 

For  the  moment  the  idea  of  such  prodigal  hos- 
pitality took  Charity  aback,  but  at  the  next  she 
smiled. 

"  Charity  begins  at  home." 

Devina,  vaguely  scenting  another  joke,  sniffed  sus- 
piciously. 

"  We  might  begin  with  Toddie  and  —  and  Major 
Dale." 

The  girl  waited  for  a  comment,  but  none  came. 
The  figure  by  her  side  —  more  than  ever  obscured 

189 


TODDIE 

as  the  moments  passed  —  listened  to  the  suggestion  in 
ominous  silence. 

"  They  both  lead  such  lonely  lives  —  and  — " 

"  I  dinna  ken  what  ye  'd  be  after,"  burst  out  De- 
vina,  driven  into  desperation.  "  Is  it  not  their  ain 
fault  if  they  're  lonesome  ?  Could  they  no'  keep 
house  thegither  like  you  and  me?  To  hear  ye  talk, 
a  body  would  think  ye  had  never  had  that  Major 
in  before.  Hoots,  ye  're  always  askin'  him  to  his 
tea." 

"  Major  Dale,"  corrected  Charity  with  dignity. 
"  And  you  're  quite  wrong.  He  comes  without  be- 
ing asked." 

"  Weel,  he  canna  be  that  lonely  seein'  that  he  's 
always  here ;  and  as  for  that  caddie  o'  his  — " 

She  broke  off.     Her  face  flushed  in  the  twilight. 

"  I  thought  you  liked  him?  " 

"  Me !  Like  him ! "  There  was  swift  scorn  in 
the  ejaculation  —  scorn  fierce  and  tempestuous  as  the 
wind  that  fell  at  that  moment  upon  the  house  —  scorn 
out  of  all  proportion  to  the  innocent  and  kindly  char- 
acter of  the  interrogation. 

Charity,  listening  in  astonishment,  and  trying 
vainly  to  distinguish  the  face  of  her  companion,  seen 
vaguely  as  a  somber  silhouette,  one  with  the  sur- 
rounding shadows,  realized  that  the  cry  betrayed  a 
source  of  trouble  of  whose  existence  she  had  hitherto 
been  unaware. 

190 


TODDIE 

"  Why  not?  "  she  asked,  raising  her  voice  to  make 
herself  audible,  "  I  like  him.  I  spoke  to  him  that 
day  I  golfed  with  Major  Dale.  He  seemed — " 
She  paused,  racking  her  brain  for  something  that 
would  redound  to  Toddie's  credit,  yet  be  not  too 
remote  from  the  truth.  The  quest  presented  diffi- 
culties, for  the  behavior  of  the  scandalized  Toddie 
on  that  occasion  lent  itself  to  no  pleasant  recollec- 
tions. 

"  Aha !  "  cried  Devina  in  gloomy  triumph.  "  Ye 
see !  —  ye  can  say  nothin'  for  him." 

"  Major  Dale  said  he  was  the  best  caddie  in  St. 
Andrews." 

A  contemptuous  snort. 

"  That 's  something  in  his  favor." 

"  Precious  little.  Ony  eediot  can  carry  a  bag  o' 
clubs  — "  She  checked  herself,  then  added  with  bit- 
terness — "  Aye,  drunk  or  sober." 

"  I  asked  him  — "  continued  Charity  pleasantly, 
"  how  he  liked  having  tea  with  you." 

There  came  no  comment,  though  the  hand  holding 
the  curtain  tightened.  Charity  continued :  "  He 
seemed  quite  touched,  for  he  gave  Major  Dale  the 
wrong  club."  She  looked  up  at  Devina,  then  added 
with  complacency :  "  I  asked  him  to  come  in  again." 

"  You  —  you  asked  him  to  come  in  again  *  " 

"  Yes." 

"Why?" 

191 


TODDIE 

"  I  was  sorry  for  him." 

"  Ye  might  have  saved  yerself  the  trouble.  If 
that  man  comes  to  this  house  again  never  expect  me 
to  give  him  his  tea." 

"  But  —  I  thought  it  would  please  you  —  you  never 
have  visitors.  I  thought  you  liked  him." 

For  a  moment  there  came  no  answer;  then  out  of 
the  darkness  Devina's  voice  was  heard,  deep,  troubled 
—  the  voice  of  one  inexpert  in  self-analysis,  strug- 
gling to  express  the  inarticulate. 

"  How  can  I  —  how  can  any  decent  woman,  like 
a  thing  like  yon?  There  was  no  talk  o'  likin'.  It 
was  just  a  —  just  a  convenience.  I  never 
thought  — .  But  there  — "  She  drew  herself  up. 
"  Ye  canna  touch  pitch  and  escape  defilement." 

"  Defilement?  " 

"  Aye,  defilement.  Oh  it 's  easy  seen,  ma  dearie, 
you  ken  nothin'  aboot  men,  and  may  the  Lorrd  keep 
ye  from  the  knowledge.  Drunken,  dirty,  Sabbath- 
breakin' —  so  they  are.  I  wouldna  touch  one  o'  them 
with  a  broom  handle,  not  one." 

"  But  —  Toddie  's  given  up  drinking." 

Devina  started. 

"  I  say,  he  does  n't  drink  any  more.  He  refused 
a  drink  the  other  day  —  Major  Dale  tpld  me  so," 
and  Charity  narrated  the  incident  with  an  ardor  of 
championship  that  astonished  even  herself. 

That  the  information  took  Devina  completely  by 
192 


TODDIE 

surprise  was  plainly  observable.  But,  as  she  pon- 
dered, an  incredulous  smile  curled  her  lips :  "  He 
must  have  been  sick,"  she  said  contemptuously. 

Having  drawn  the  curtains  and  lighted  the  gas, 
she  remarked,  one  hand  on  the  door: 

"  Now,  I  canna  waste  ma  time.  There  's  that  pet- 
ticoat o'  yours  to  mend." 

"  Well,"  said  her  mistress,  "  perhaps  you  're  right. 
If  Toddie  is  as  bad  as  that  — " 

"  Bad?     Who  said  he  was  bad?  " 

"  You  did." 

"  I  said  nothin'  of  the  sort." 

They  faced  each  other  under  the  light. 

"  Oh,  Devina,  you  said  he  was  dishonest  and  — " 

"  Dishonest !  Me !  I  never  said  the  word.  I 
never  questioned  the  man's  honesty  for  a  moment. 
That  would  be  the  last  straw.  He  's  got  wickedness 
withoot  that.  Dishonest!  What  next!  Hoots, 
Miss  Charity,  I  'm  surprised  at  ye !  Would  ye  take 
away  the  man's  character?  " 

Charity  turned  away  to  hide  a  smile. 


13 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  attack  upon  his  own  person  and  the  ablu- 
tion of  Bob  pledged  Toddie  to  a  course  of  con- 
duct wider  reaching  by  far  than  he  had  anticipated. 
Like  a  stone  flung  into  the  water,  his  action  spread 
the  waves  of  its  consequences  to  the  farthermost 
limit  of  his  belongings.  From  Bob  to  the  kitchen 
floor  was  an  inevitable  progression  —  likewise  from 
his  own  face  to  his  disreputable  muffler.  Cleanliness, 
like  an  infectious  disease,  spreads  rapidly.  Each  day 
marked  its  progress.  One  article  of  furniture  after 
another  fell  a  victim.  Not  only  would  you  have 
failed  to  recognize  the  room  —  but  the  room  would 
have  failed  to  recognize  itself,  so  lustrous  was  it, 
so  rubbed  and  scrubbed  by  the  full  force  of  Toddie's 
arm. 

Many  have  been  the  great  deeds,  many  the  drastic 
revolutions  inspired  by  the  memory  of  a  woman's 
eyes,  but  none,  I  dare  swear,  more  worthy  of  record 
than  this  spring-cleaning,  not  only  of  Toddie's  house- 
hold goods,  but  of  his  very  existence.  Like  his 
renunciation  of  whisky  it  was  an  offering  laid  on  the 
lowest  step  of  Devina's  shrine,  laid  humbly,  peni- 

194 


TODDIE 

tentlj,  with  no  hope  of  reward,  no  hope  even  of 
recognition.  She  would  never  come  again  —  Tod- 
die  knew  it,  so  what  chance  of  her  discovering  that 
all  this  had  been  done  for  her?  None  at  all.  Yet 
Toddie  persevered.  Not  for  one  moment  did  he  hesi- 
tate. He  spared  nothing.  Scrubbing-brush  in  hand 
he  attacked  the  grandfather's  clock  with  the  same 
stoical  impartiality,  the  same  stern  ardor  of  self- 
sacrifice  with  which  he  lathered  the  very  shirt  stripped 
from  his  own  protesting  back. 

He  was  only  a  common  little  caddie,  plain  to  look 
at:  you,  reader,  would  have  passed  him  over  had 
you  seen  him  with  the  crowd  of  his  associates  round 
the  shelter,  and  small  blame  to  you,  for  there  was 
nothing  to  distinguish  him  from  mortals  of  less 
heroic  soul  —  it  needed  a  Bob  to  discover  that  —  yet 
within  that  breast,  covered  by  the  amazingly  clean 
shirt,  the  torch  of  chivalry  blazed  as  brightly  as  in 
the  heart  of  a  Bayard. 

It  is  certain  that  he  himself  had  not  the  slightest 
conception  of  the  significance  of  his  actions.  Once 
embarked  upon  the  course  he  had  planned,  he  rarely 
gave  himself  up  to  conscious  thought.  Thinking 
was  an  awful  business,  not  to  be  lightly  undertaken 
—  deeds  were  much  more  in  Toddie's  line.  As  for 
self -analysis,  he  had  never  even  heard  of  it,  much  less 
had  he  ever  put  it  into  practice.  But  something 
was  undoubtedly  at  work  within  him.  He  felt  it  — 

195 


TODDIE 

vaguely,  glowingly,  exultantly  —  yet  with  awe. 
Never  before  had  he  been  so  "  warmed  " —  nor  must 
this  be  attributed  solely  to  the  exercise.  Though 
he  knew  it  not,  it  was  the  fire  of  self-denial,  of  self- 
sacrifice,  of  devotion,  of  abnegation.  Virtues  that 
have  emblazoned  the  glorious  pages  of  history ! 
They  have  transfigured  the  pallid  countenances  of 
saints,  they  have  sustained  the  holy  resolution  of 
martyrs  —  and  shall  we  then  deny  their  presence  in 
the  rubicund  face  of  Toddie,  because,  forsooth,  he 
is  only  a  caddie  and  lives  in  Logic's  Lane?  Most 
assuredly  not. 

There  were  times,  however,  when  our  hero  paused, 
reaching  as  it  were  an  oasis  of  contemplation  in  the 
midst  of  a  desert  of  unthinking  impulse.  At  such 
rare  moments  he  would  be  seized  with  fresh  amaze- 
ment, not  untinged  with  superstitious  alarm  —  the 
alarm  of  a  man  confronted  unexpectedly  by  an  un- 
familiar face  in  a  mirror. 

He  —  Toddie  —  doing  this  for  a  woman ! 

Overcome  with  incredulity  he  would  remain  for 
long  motionless,  on  his  knees,  while  the  dust  clouds 
settled  slowly.  Then,  with  a  jerk  of  his  head  and 
an  admonishing  grunt  he  would  strenuously  resume 
his  task. 

Between  ourselves,  during  this  period  of  storm 
and  stress  Bob  lived  a  dog's  life.  He  was  driven 
from  pillar  to  post.  When  the  fireplace  became  un- 

196 


TODDIE 

tenable,  he  sought  refuge  beneath  the  bed  —  when 
the  business  end  of  the  broom  forced  him  to  evacuate 
that  sanctuary,  he  slunk  away,  treading  gingerly  on 
the  wet  floor  and  keeping  as  close  as  possible  to  the 
wall,  till  he  reached  the  recess  where  ticked  the  grand- 
father's clock.  There  was  just  room  for  him  be- 
tAveen  the  case  and  the  wall.  From  this  asylum  he 
watched  Toddie  with  smarting  and  reproachful  eyes 

—  restrained,    however,    from    active    demonstrations 
by  the  memory  of  his  one  bath. 

One  night  Toddie  showed  signs  of  more  than  usual 
restlessness.  He  could  not  keep  still.  He  got  on 
Bob's  nerves.  What  sense  was  there  in  walking  about 
when  you  could  roast  yourself  at  a  fire!  Thank 
heaven,  there  was  nothing  more  that  could  be  washed 

—  that  was  some  consolation.     Bob  —  it  must  be  ex- 
plained —  was    feeling   sore  —  both    physically    and 
mentally.     He  had  concealed  a  favorite  bone  against 
an   unoccupied   hour,   but  the  broom   had   found   it 
out.     To    relieve    his    feelings    Bob    had    promptly 
sallied  out  of  doors  when  Toddie's  back  was  turned, 
and  catching  sight  of  his  pet  aversion,  an  unneigh- 
borly  bull  terrier,  had  forced  a  fight.     There  could 
be  but  one  termination.     Bob  had  been  dragged  back 
to  his  master  still  uttering  yells  of  defiance,  defeated 
perhaps  in  body  but  undaunted  in  soul. 

He  was  licking  an  honorable  scar  when  his  master 
stopped  before  him. 

197 


TODDIE 

"  I  wish  I  was  you,"  said  Toddie. 

"  All  very  well,"  thought  Bob. 

"  I  wish  I  could  love  a  bone." 

This  was  simply  adding  insult  to  injury! 

"  Puir  beastie,  that 's  a  nasty  bite  ye  've  got,  but 
if  it  makes  ye  ony  better  to  hear  it  I  'd  change  with 
ye  and  welcome.  What 's  a  bite  or  a  few  fleas  com- 
pared wi'  a  thirst  like  mine.  No'  that  I  'm  regrettin' 
what  I  've  done,  but  ye  '11  never  ken  what  ma  throat 's 
like.  This  verra  night  I  passed  McPhee  holdin'  on  to 
the  railin's  —  sure  as  death  the  money  itched  in  ma 
pocket." 

Bob  settled  himself  to  sleep. 

To  and  fro,  to  and  fro  marched  Toddie.  Occa- 
sionally he  would  mutter  a  broken  sentence,  or  shake 
a  bewildered  head. 

"  Dang  it ! "  he  cried  suddenly  thumping  the  table 
with  his  clenched  fist,  "  it  isna  natural.  Say  what 
ye  like." 

Bob  said  nothing. 

"  I  '11  be  losin'  your  respect  next.  This  verra  day 
did  I  no*  offer  the  Major  his  brassie  on  the  puttin' 
green.  And  then,  me  bein'  sore  flustered,  and  him 
glarin',  what  must  I  do  but  step  right  back  on  to 
the  top  of  oor  opponent's  ball.  '  Your  hole,'  says 
the  Major  to  him  —  and  gied  me  the  one  look.  Man, 
Bob,  ye  may  thank  God  ye  're  no'  a  caddie !  " 

With  a  gesture  that  was  almost  passionate  he 
198 


TODDIE 

crossed  to  the  window.  The  night  was  fine.  Above 
the  opposite  roof  he  could  see  the  stars.  Still  pur- 
sued by  restlessness,  and  scarcely  aware  of  what  he 
did,  he  took  his  cap  from  its  customary  peg. 

Bob  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Na,"  said  Toddie,  "I'm  just  goin'  to  look  at 
the  house.  It  would  never  do  for  you  to  come.  Ye 
ken  weel  enough  ye  canna  hold  yer  tongue.  Here, 
lie  doon  an'  sleep.  I  '11  tell  ye  all  aboot  it  when  I 
come  back." 

With  the  unquestioning  obedience  that  was  his 
creed,  Bob  curled  himself  once  more  on  the  warm 
hearth-stone. 


199 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  street  was  deserted,  the  links  a  mute  and 
mysterious    obscurity.     The    winds    were    all 
asleep.     Only  the  stars  and  the  sea  were  awake. 

The  stars  and  the  sea !  The  secrets  of  the  world 
written  in  silver  —  the  soul  of  the  world  expressed 
in  song.  Stars  and  sea !  Potent  magicians  !  What 
spells  of  insidious  sentiment  do  ye  not  cast  over  all  who 
wander  lonely  in  the  night,  gazing,  listening,  even 
unconsciously,  intent  upon  the  memory  of  a  woman ! 

Alas,  poor  Toddie ! 

He  stood  leaning  against  a  friendly  lamp-post, 
staring  fixedly  at  a  basement  window.  The  light 
from  behind  it  —  only  shining  faintly  through  red 
curtains  —  exaggerated  the  warmth  of  his  complex- 
ion. His  were  no  enviable  or  even  coherent  sen- 
sations. The  light  from  the  basement  window  held 
him  like  a  resolute  eye.  More  —  it  mesmerized  him. 
It  represented  Devina.  Its  red  and  angry  glow  was 
strangely  symbolical.  Toddie  quailed  before  it,  yet 
impotent  to  withdraw  his  gaze,  continued  to  stare 
helplessly,  pitifully ;  as  though  it  were  indeed  Devina 
and  he  was  humbly  beseeching  forgiveness. 

200 


TODDIE 

Had  it  come  to  this  —  after  all  these  years  —  in 
spite  of  all  his  convictions  —  all  his  prejudices? 
Where  was  his  boasted  independence?  Where  the 
self-sufficiency  of  his  manhood?  Gone.  And  in- 
stead of  a  Toddie  existing  in  a  shining  and  valorous 
isolation,  like  a  lone  star,  we  are  forced  to  contem- 
plate the  spectacle  of  a  Toddie  helplessly  revolving 
round  an  obscured  sun,  reduced  to  the  condition  of 
a  mere  satellite. 

One  consolation  remains.  He  himself  was  not  fully 
aware  of  his  downfall.  Love,  like  a  humane  surgeon, 
had  dulled  his  sensibilities  with  the  anesthetic  of 
mental  vacuity.  He  was  as  one  drugged.  Or  — 
a  more  appropriate  simile  —  as  one  intoxicated. 
Whisky  being  denied  him,  love  offered  him  herself 
in  a  brimming  draught ;  and  Toddie  —  welcoming 
anything  that  could  be  drunk  Avith  honor  —  drained 
it  to  the  dregs. 

He  was  still  staring  vacantly  at  the  window,  when 
the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  caused  him  to 
start. 

Another  man ! 

As  the  newcomer  moved  slowly  into  the  magic 
circle  of  light  cast  upon  the  pavement  by  the  neigh- 
boring lamp,  he  was  seen  to  pause,  apparently  lost 
in  contemplation  —  the  profound  and  brooding  rev- 
erie of  a  man  who  looks  at  a  house,  but  sees  a  woman. 

In  spite  of  the  cold,  Toddie  grew  hot  all  over. 
201 


TODDIE 

The  stranger  struck  him  suddenly  as  an  insufferable 
parody  of  himself.  But  all  at  once  indignation  was 
stabbed  by  a  new  emotion,  keen  as  a  sword-thrust  — 
Jealousy. 

The  idea  of  a  rival  had  never  till  that  instant 
crossed  Toddie's  mind.  But  now,  planted  by  sus- 
picion, it  flourished  and  grew  big.  That  the  new- 
comer had  apparently  mistaken  the  drawing-room  for 
Devina's  bedroom  was  a  mere  topographical  error. 
Love  is  blind.  That  he  should  dare  to  stand  there 
at  all  was  the  fact  that  rankled. 

Bristling  with  antagonism  —  curiously  similar  to 
Bob  when  he  stalked  a  foe  —  Toddie  quitted  the  shel- 
ter of  his  lamp-post  and  ominously  approached  his 
man. 

But  before  he  could  demand  an  apology,  he  halted 
with  a  gulp  of  amazement,  for  there  —  before  him 
-he  beheld  The  Major. 


202 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  recognition  was  mutual. 
"  I   didna   think  to   see   you  here,   Major," 
ejaculated  Toddie,  with  the  swift  and  immense  relief 
caused  by  the  total  annihilation  of  jealousy. 

"  Nor  I  you,"  exclaimed  Dale,  surprised  into  equal 
frankness. 

Having  voiced  the  similarity  of  their  sentiments, 
both  relapsed  into  silence.  Toddie  was  the  first  to 
break  it.  Clearing  his  throat,  he  spat  nervously. 

"  I  was  oot,"  he  began  with  feigned  composure, 
but  twirling  preternaturally  clean  fingers.  "  Just  oot 
takin'  the  air." 

The  Major  cpnfessed  to  a  similar  motive. 

The  admission  struck  Toddie  with  wonder,  which 
suffered  diminution  when  Dale  volunteered  the  in- 
formation that  it  was  a  fine  night  for  the  purpose. 

"  It  is  that,"  he  assented,  apparently  with  defer- 
ential cordiality,  but  intuitively  conscious  that  the 
fineness  of  the  night  could  not  truthfully  be  held  re- 
sponsible. 

With  the  dawn  of  a  kindred  emotion  he  noted  his 
employer's  impassivity,  translating  it  in  his  own 

208 


TODDIE 

hero-worshiping  heart  into  a  noble  self-restraint  that 
masked  the  same  delicate  and  incomprehensible  emo- 
tions as  those  which  perplexed  himself. 

Touched  as  by  an  unexpected  condescension  he 
felt  awkward.  He  could  think  of  nothing  worthy 
to  be  said.  And  little  wonder.  Converse  with  his 
employer  had  as  a  rule  been  confined  to  the  prac- 
tical, the  professional.  "  We  play  at  half -past  ten 
to-morrow,"  or — "Take  out  the  flag,"  or — "Tod- 
die,  call  '  fore  ' ;  "  responded  to  invariably  by  a  cheer- 
ful—"Aye,  sir,"  or— "I'll  dae  that,  Major," 
though  undoubtedly  pleasant,  was  no  practice  for  an 
exchange  of  ideas  of  necessity  so  delicate  as  those  be- 
fitting the  present. 

Toddie  felt  this.  It  was  as  though  he  had  sud- 
denly been  requested  to  perform  on  the  flute  —  an 
instrument,  as  all  the  world  knew  well  —  peculiarly 
sacred  to  the  Major.  And  even  as  times  without 
number  he  had  stood  patiently  waiting  by  Dale's 
side  on  the  links,  motionless,  anticipatory,  until  that 
thoughtful  but  somewhat  slow  golfer  could  make  up 
his  mind  to  play ;  so  now,  standing  by  his  side  in  the 
yellow  lamp-light,  he  waited  with  equal  patience  for 
him  to  speak. 

"  What  were  you  doing  here  ? "  asked  his  em- 
ployer. 

"  Me?  "  stammered  Toddie,  abruptly  forced  to  take 
204 


cognizance  of  his  actions.  "  I  was  just  —  I  was  just 
lookin'  at  yon  window." 

"Which  window?" 

Toddie  stared.  To  his  mind  there  was  but  one 
window  worthy  of  consideration  in  the  whole  house. 

"  Yon  red  one,  doon  there." 

Requested  to  state  his  reasons  for  this  eccentric 
behavior,  Toddie  shuffled  uneasily  from  one  foot  to 
the  other. 

"  Weel,"  he  said  cautiously,  "  I  canna  exactly 
tell  ye.  It 's  no'  for  the  likes  o'  me  to  put  it  into 
words  for  the  likes  o'  you.  Na,  na,  I  ken  ma  place, 
Major.  I  ken  ma  place." 

The  deprecatory  tone  in  which  this  assertion  was 
made  appeared  to  rouse  his  employer's  curiosity,  for 
Dale,  looking  down  at  his  caddie  with  some  astonish- 
ment, again  demanded  an  explanation. 

Toddie  scratched  his  head. 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  ye,"  he  said  with  much  simple 
earnestness,  "  but  I  canna  even  tell  maself.  There  's 
no  doubt  I  'm  queer.  Queer,  aye,  an'  I  never  sus- 
pected it!" 

He  broke  off  with  an  ominous  shake  of  the  head; 
then,  venturing  an  upward  look  into  his  companion's 
face  and  emboldened  by  Dale's  silent  attention,  as 
well  as  by  the  semi-darkness,  he  continued: 

"  I  believe  what  I  was  minded  to  say  was  this. 
205 


TODDIE 

Ye  see,  it 's  no  use  ma  tellin'  you  —  even  if  I  could. 
For  why  ?  You  're  a  Club  member,  an'  I  'm  naethin' 
but  a  caddie.  Oh,  I  ken  fine  it 's  just  your  kindness, 
wishin'  to  give  me  the  chance  to  talk.  That 's  you, 
Major,  all  over.  But  you,  with  all  your  book-learnin' 
an'  what  not,  kens  far  better  nor  me  why  I  was 
lookin'  at  that  window." 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  gesture  of  negation. 

"  Hoots,  Maj  or  1 "  Toddie's  voice  was  full  of  a 
smiling  and  respectful  protest  — "  Were  you  no' 
lookin'  at  a  window  yerself  ?  " 

There  came  no  answer.  Toddie,  struck  with 
alarm  lest  he  should  have  offended,  was  mightily  re- 
lieved to  hear  the  Major's  voice  proposing  a  walk. 
In  a  tremor  of  gratitude  and  pride  he  lurched  away 
beside  his  master;  his  heart  divided  between  reluct- 
ance to  leave  the  house  without  having  seen  Devina, 
and  the  ardent  wish  for  broad  day  and  a  congested 
links,  so  that  all  St.  Andrews  might  behold  and 
envy. 

The  strangely-assorted  companions  traversed  in 
silence  the  stretch  of  links  that  lay  between  the  Fords' 
house  and  the  sea ;  and  having  crossed  a  little  bridge, 
found  themselves  upon  a  path  which  called  upon  them 
to  decide  whether  they  would  keep  to  the  landward 
of  the  dunes  or  trust  themselves  to  the  sands. 

Dale  suggested  the  latter. 

Toddie  assented.  And  truth  to  tell,  had  the  Major 
206 


TODDIE 

proposed  a  bath  in  the  burn,  he  would  have  accepted 
with  a  like  hearty  and  approving  acquiescence. 

Once  away  from  the  reign  of  lamp-light,  it  was  by 
no  means  plain  sailing,  for  the  stars  were  incon- 
veniently distant,  and  there  was  an  entire  absence 
of  moon.  Not  once  but  many  times  did  Toddie 
stumble  over  the  rubbish  heaps  with  which  an  en- 
lightened Town  Council  had  decorated  the  approach 
to  the  beach. 

Upon  a  less  auspicious  occasion  he  would  have  be- 
wailed the  injury  inflicted  upon  the  Major's  boots; 
but  now,  blissfully  unconscious  of  damaged  leather, 
he  drove  his  little  legs  to  their  utmost  speed  in  his 
efforts  to  keep  pace  with  the  lengthy  stride  of  his 
employer. 

A  faint  breeze  fanned  them,  pleasantly  saline,  whis- 
pering of  shells  and  weed,  wrack  and  tangle,  of  all 
the  discarded  playthings  of  the  inconstant  sea. 

At  that  hour  master  and  man  had  the  sands  all  to 
themselves.  Behind  them  St.  Andrews  twinkled,  far 
off,  like  a  small  and  isolated  galaxy  of  stars.  Before 
them  the  beach  receded  into  blue  and  mysterious 
depths,  cheating  the  eye,  hunted  by  the  sound  of 
waves.  And  even,  as  they  walked,  the  night  accom- 
panied them,  passed  into  their  blood;  and  insensibly 
attuning  them  to  tender  reverie,  suggested  emotions 
that  would  have  fled  the  light  of  day. 

It  became  evident  to  Toddie  that  his  companion 
207 


TODDIE 

was  thinking  deeply.  Nothing  else,  he  felt  convinced, 
could  satisfactorily  account  for  the  abstracted  and 
scholarly  droop  of  that  head  —  for  those  hands 
plunged  so  profoundly  into  the  trousers  pockets. 
His  own  attitude,  be  it  noted,  was  precisely  similar. 
But  that  was  mere  subconscious  imitation,  which,  had 
it  been  pointed  out  to  him,  he  would  have  sternly  con- 
demned as  presumption. 

For  nothing  in  the  world  would  Toddie  have  been 
guilty  of  the  crime  of  interruption.  To  be  privileged 
to  walk  by  the  side  of  one  so  learned  —  walk,  mark 
you,  as  a  companion,  and  by  no  means  as  the  inev- 
itable accompaniment  of  a  golf -bag  —  was  a  sort 
of  impossible  dream,  a  delightful  illusion  of  equality 
which  modesty  repudiated,  but  affection  embraced. 
He  had  no  wish  to  talk.  To  be  permitted  to  share 
the  Major's  silence  was  in  itself  a  sufficient  and  most 
bewildering  honor. 

"  Toddie,"  said  Dale  all  at  once,  "  I  've  been  think- 

ing." 

"  I  made  certain  o'  it,"  cried  Toddie,  with  respect- 
ful admiration. 

"  Keep  quiet,"  said  his  employer  testily.  Then, 
after  a  pause  and  with  the  air  of  one  who  ponders 
every  word :  "  I  've  been  thinking  that  it  is  n't 
natural  for  a  man  to  live  alone." 

Toddie's  mouth  opened  to  its  widest. 

"  What 's  your  opinion?  "  encouraged  his  master. 
208 


TODDIE 

Toddie  drew  a  deep  breath.  Elevated  thus  unex- 
pectedly to  the  dizzy  post  of  adviser,  he  became 
nervous. 

"  Well?  "  said  Dale. 

"  Weel,"  repeated  Toddie,  and  hesitated  —  "  It 's 
no'  for  the  likes  o'  me  — " 

"  Come.     Out  with  it." 

"Weel,  Major  —  since  ye  ask  me  —  what  you 
need  is  a  dog." 

The  Major  stared. 

"  Aye,  just  that,"  cried  Toddie,  warming. 
"  There  's  naethin'  to  beat  a  dog  at  the  comfortin'. 
The  thoughtf ulness  o'  him !  When  ye  're  wet  he  dries 
ye,  and  when  ye  're  dry  he  wets  ye.  Hoots,  I  couldna 
get  on  at  all  withoot  Bob.  I  tell  ye,  Major,  to  hear 
the  wee  besom  yowlin',  clean  daft  wi'  joy  in  the 
kitchen,  as  soon  as  ever  he  hears  ma  step,  is  just  —  is 
just  —  weel,  it's  better  nor  a  drink." 

Upon  the  tremendous  simile  he  broke  off.  Then, 
as  his  companion  seemed  totally  at  a  loss  for  words, 
he  continued  more  calmly,  yet  with  great  earnest- 
ness: 

"  I  've  often  bothered  aboot  ye,  Major.  No  of- 
fense, sir,  I  hope.  Oh,  I  ken  weel  it 's  no'  ma  place, 
nor  hers  eether,  but  we  just  couldna  help  it.  I 
wouldna  cared  to  speak  at  all,  had  ye  no'  sae  kindly 
given  me  permeesion.  I  ken  weel  enough  what  ye  're 
feelin',  for  lately  I  've  felt  bothered  maself.  It 's  bein' 
14  209 


TODDIE 

a  bachelor  does  it.  It  doesna  matter  for  the  likes  o' 
me,  but  you,  you  're  in  the  right  aboot  yerself .  It  isna 
natural  for  you  to  live  alone.  A  flute  is  all  verra 
weel  in  its  own  way ;  it  speaks  to  ye,  I  ken  that,  but 
it  canna  jump  on  yer  knees  an'  lick  yer  face." 

This  startling  idea  seemed  to  deprive  the  Major 
of  speech ;  for  his  pace  relaxed,  and  he  stared  down- 
wards with  a  humorous  and  growing  amazement  into 
the  face  of  his  caddie. 

"  Very  kind  of  you,  Toddie,"  he  said  at  length, 
controlling  a  desire  to  laugh,  "  but  —  I  was  n't  think- 
ing of  myself." 

Toddie  peered  up  through  the  night  at  his  em- 
ployer. The  memory  of  the  drawing-room  window 
caused  a  lenient  and  incredulous  smile  to  twist  his 
lips. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  you"  said  Dale. 

No  response. 

"You  ought  to  marry,"  continued  the  Major. 

"  Mel     Me  marry?  " 

"  Why  not?  You  are  not  too  old.  How  old  are 
you?"  " 

"  The  same  age  as  yerself,  wantin'  thirteen  days," 
said  Toddie  promptly. 

"  Well  — "  continued  Dale,  somewhat  taken  aback, 
"  well,  it 's  —  it 's  a.  sensible  age.  But  you  must  n't 
lose  time.  Have  you  ever  thought  about  it?  " 

210 


TODDIE 

"  Never."     This  with  tremendous  emphasis. 

"  Marriage  would  suit  you  very  well,"  went  on  the 
tempter's  voice  in  the  darkness.  "  To  have  some  one 
to  take  care  of  you,  and  —  and  pour  out  the  tea, 
and  —  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  eh?  " 

The  last  words  were  uttered  somewhat  doubtfully 
—  more  to  himself  than  to  Toddie,  who  was  waiting 
anxiously  for  further  developments. 

"  You  'd  make  a  decent  husband,"  mused  the  Ma- 
jor, not  without  hesitation. 

Toddie  tried  to  thank  him,  but  failed. 

"  You  're  fairly  steady.  I  have  n't  seen  you  drunk 
lately.  How's  that?" 

Toddie  was  heard  to  mutter,  but  the  voice  of  the 
sea  considerately  drowned  the  explanation. 

"  Well,  that 's  a  good  thing  anyway,"  approved 
the  Major. 

He  paused,  as  though  at  a  loss  how  best  to  continue ; 
then,  when  they  had  walked  some  dozen  yards  in  si- 
lence, he  said  abruptly: 

"  You  ought  to  ask  her  soon." 

The  two  men  came  to  a  standstill.  Their  figures, 
dark  and  mysterious  even  to  each  other,  loomed  dimly, 
as  though  they  were  component  parts  of  the  be- 
nighted sands,  the  starlit  sky,  the  invisible  and  re- 
sounding sea. 

Feelings  of  amazement  surged  up  in  Toddie's  breast. 
211 


TODDIE 

This  from  the  Major  —  from  the  man  whom  he  had 
schemed  to  save!  He  could  not  believe  his  ears.  It 
was  all  his  kindness,  no  doubt  —  but  — 

"  Well? "  encouraged  Dale,  inwardly  pleased  at 
his  success.  "  Well,  will  you  do  it?  " 

Toddie  came  to  a  standstill. 

"  See  here,  Major,  what  makes  ye  talk  like  that?  " 
he  asked  anxiously.  "  Ye  're  no'  f eelin'  sick,  are 
ye?" 

Dale  was  understood  to  remark  that  he  never  felt 
better. 

"  Umph ! "  grunted  Toddie,  much  relieved,  then 
in  explanation :  "  Folk  get  awful  daft-like  notions 
when  they  're  sick.  I  once  kent  a  man  —  Jock  Mac- 
pherson  it  was  —  who  said  he  couldna  bear  the  smell 
o'  whusky.  They  got  the  meenister  to  him,  and  in 
less  than  a  week  he  was  as  drunk  as  ever.  It  was  a 
grand  recovery.  Now,  sir,  if  it 's  no'  a  liberty,  what 
makes  ye  bother  yerself  aboot  me  marryin'?  " 

For  once  the  Major  was  at  a  loss  for  words.  How 
could  he  explain,  what  was  after  all  scarcely  intelligi- 
ble to  himself,  the  incomprehensible  desire  of  those 
who  contemplate  matrimony  to  see  others  following 
in  their  footsteps? 

His  silence  filled  Toddie  with  alarm. 

"  Here ! "  he  spluttered,  with  a  sudden  gesticula- 
tion, "  it 's  no'  for  the  likes  —  what  I  was  minded 
—  Ma  God,  Major,  I  canna  put  it  into  words." 

212 


TODDIE 

"  No  need,"  said  Dale,  unaccountably  obstinate. 
"  Just  do  it." 

"  But  there  is  need  —  an'  I  darena  do  it.  You 
ken  me,  Major.  Have  I  no'  carried  for  ye  for  years? 
I  'm  like  yerself.  Women  are  not  for  us.  Oh,  dinna 
think  I  '11  be  settin'  maself  up  alongside  the  likes  o' 
you.  The  Lorrd  forbid!  But  —  we're  bachelors, 
are  we  no',  sir?  " 

Toddie  spoke  wistfully,  staring  with  pathetic  de- 
sire for  confirmation  into  the  face  of  his  employer. 

"  Y-es,"  assented  Dale,  seeing  that  he  was  expected 
to  speak,  "  But  what  — " 

"  Weel,"  interrupted  Toddie,  "  that 's  it.  That 's 
what  I  would  be  at.  It 's  the  Lorrd's  Will.  Them 
that 's  born  bachelors  must  live  bachelors  and  die 
bachelors.  Aye,  it 's  safer.  Mind  ye,  it 's  you  I  'm 
thinkin'  of,  Major.  I  fear  for  ye.  Not  a  princess 
in  the  land  but  would  just  jump  at  ye.  It 's  an 
awful  poseetion." 

His  companion  smiled  involuntarily.  But  it  was 
no  smiling  matter  for  Toddie.  Even  while  he 
pleaded,  he  was  distressingly  conscious  of  insincerity. 
The  arguments  he  summoned  to  his  aid  were  but  the 
echoes  of  deceased  convictions.  They  fell  lamely 
from  his  lips.  Even  as  he  uttered  them  he  thought 
of  Devina  and  judged  himself  a  traitor. 

They  resumed  their  walk,  neither  venturing  to 
break  the  silence.  The  darkness  and  the  solitude  of 

213 


TODDIE 

their  surroundings,  the  sense  of  infinitude,  the  voice 
of  the  sea,  all  had  conspired  to  work  a  miracle.  For 
the  time  being  the  two  men  ceased  to  be  caddie  and 
employer.  They  became  but  two  human  beings  con- 
fronted by  the  profound  and  eventful  mysteries  of 
life. 

Toddie  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  See  yon,"  he  said,  and  pointed  to  the  east  where 
a  faint  lighting  in  fleecy  clouds  gave  silver  promise 
of  a  moon.  "  That 's  how  I  feel.  No'  what  ye 
would  call  clear,  but  just  glimmerin'.  It 's  you 
that 's  done  it,  Major.  I  'm  seein'  things  I  never 
thought  of  before.  Nae  doot  I  was  selfish.  I  wanted 
to  keep  ye  like  you  was.  I  never  thought  of  the 
loneliness.  We  're  all  alike  in  oor  hearts,  whether 
we  put  up  at  an  hotel  or  live  in  Logie's  Lane." 

Dale  listened  in  silence,  secretly  wondering. 

"  Aye,"  continued  Toddie,  "  have  I  no'  fought 
again'  it  maself  ?  Whiles  it  grips  ye,  so  it  does.  To 
see  the  wee  bairns  playin'  theirselves  in  the  street  — 
what 's  a  bachelor  to  do  wi'  that  ?  An'  when  ye 
come  hame  of  a  night  just  dead  beat  —  an'  naebody 
carin'.  Oh,  I  wouldna  mention  it  to  Bob.  He  thinks 
he  's  everything  to  me.  But  I  canna  help  f eelin'  it 
all  the  same." 

He  sighed  heavily.  His  discouragement  moved 
his  companion  who  would  have  spoken,  but  Toddie 
interrupted : 

214 


TODDIE 

"  Na,  dinna  fash  yerself  aboot  me.  It 's  too  late. 
I  'm  done  for.  But  you  —  there  's  time  yet.  I  've 
been  deceivin'  ye ;  I  've  been  deceivin'  maself ,  too.  I 
didna  mean  a  word  o'  what  I  said.  That 's  all  over. 
Ask  her,  sir,  ask  her.  Nae  doot  she  's  just  waitin' 
to  be  asked  —  Herd  says  they  're  all  alike.  And, 
puir  lassie,  it 's  easy  seen  she  dotes  on  ye." 

This  altogether  unexpected  turning  of  the  tables 
brought  Dale  again  to  a  standstill.  Toddie  too  came 
to  a  halt.  For  a  while  the  master  eyed  the  caddie 
in  an  amazed  and  ominous  silence.  The  latter, 
alarmed  at  his  boldness  and  fearful  of  results,  watched 
him  nervously. 

"  We  'd  better  be  going  back,"  said  Dale  abruptly. 
The  tone  of  his  voice  caused  Toddie  to  breathe  again. 
They  retraced  their  steps  in  a  silence  that  was  preg- 
nant of  import. 

Not  till  the  parting  of  their  ways  did  the  Major 
speak  again. 

"  Ten  fifteen  to-morrow,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  Aye,  sir,"  responded  Toddie  with  alacrity. 
"  I  '11  be  there." 


215 


CHAPTER  XXHI 

ONE  night,  and  while  Toddie  was  still  in  a  state 
of  hopeless  despondency,  he  was   cheered  bj 
another  visit  from  Tarn. 

Thomas  Macintyre  always  opened  a  door  as 
though  he  were  convinced  that  his  deadliest  enemy 
were  lurking  with  hostile  intent  upon  the  other  side. 
Hence  both  Toddie  and  Bob  became  aware  of  the 
identity  of  their  visitor  long  before  his  white  and 
anxious  face  made  its  appearance. 

"  Come  in,"  encouraged  Toddie,  "  ye  're  worse  nor 
a  draft" 

Nor  was  this  comment  without  excuse,  for  the 
wind  entered  with  the  old  man,  and,  causing  the  lamp 
to  flicker,  sent  tremulous  lights  and  shadows  in  pur- 
suit of  each  other  over  the  well-scrubbed  furniture 
and  the  whitewashed  walls.  From  without  came  an 
impression  of  elemental  tumult  carried  on  in  the  dimly 
lighted  streets  —  of  night  encamping  in  the  plains 
of  darkness  to  the  wild  bugles  of  the  wind,  and  the 
deep  and  muffled  roll-call  of  the  sea.  When  Tarn, 
moving  with  extreme  caution,  slowly  closed  the  door, 
peace  fell  suddenly. 

216 


TODDIE 

"  Take  a  seat,"  invited  Toddie. 

But  Tarn  remained  standing.  His  eyes,  gradually 
accustoming  themselves  to  the  light,  gazed  around 
them  in  amazement. 

"  Weel,"  said  Toddie,  "  what 's  wrong  with  ye?  " 

"  Naething,"  muttered  Tarn,  still  staring :  then 
with  apologetic  hesitation,  "  it 's  —  it 's  yer  kitchen. 
It 's  no'  like  the  same  place." 

Toddie  glanced  sheepishly  at  his  belonging^. 

"  And  you  — ;  continued  Tarn,  inspecting  his 
host's  face  with  a  steadily  growing  astonishment, 
"you're  different.  And  Bob?  What  ails  the 
beastie  ?  " 

"Hoots!  He's  fine,"  growled  Toddie.  "Ye 
see,  Tarn,  ye  canna  be  expected  to  understand  Bob's 
f  eelin's  —  he  's  had  a  bath." 

"  A  what  ?  " 

Toddie  repeated  the  statement.  Tarn's  eyes 
opened  to  their  widest.  For  some  time  he  scrutinized 
Bob  with  silent  amazement,  then  turned  to  his  host. 

"  Have  you  had  a  bath,  too  ?  "  he  asked  with  the 
utmost  incredulity. 

Toddie  muttered  an  abashed  affirmative ;  but  at  the 
next  moment  burst  out  with: 

"  Ye  needna  stand  there  sniggerin',  Tammas 
Macintyre.  What  does  the  Lorrd  tell  us?  Says  He 
—  nae  doot  to  His  disciples  — *  Cleanliness  is  next  to 
Godliness.'  Aye,  them  's  His  verra  words ;  an*  isna 

217 


TODDIE 

it  better  to  have  one  o'  them  like  me  an'  Bob,  than 
neether  o'  them  like  you  ?  " 

Tarn  sobered  suddenly. 

"  Dinna  say  that,  Toddie." 

"  Weel,  weel, —  I  didna  mean  to  hurt  yer  feelin's, 
Tarn ;  I  ken  you  go  to  the  Kirk,  but  somehow  or  ither 
I  never  can  think  of  ye  as  releegious." 

"  I  keep  it  to  maself,"  quavered  Tam,  seating  him- 
self with  dignity. 

"  Ye  do  that,"  agreed  Toddie  with  conviction. 

Relations  being  somewhat  strained,  host  and  guest 
stared  in  moody  silence  at  the  fire.  In  the  chimney 
the  wind  was  heard  to  rave  ceaselessly. 

All  at  once,  Bob  who  had  been  glancing  with  a 
puzzled  expression  from  one  friend  to  the  other,  rose 
to  his  paws,  and  after  sniffing  with  deep  interest  at 
Tarn's  boots,  suddenly  licked  his  hand. 

"  There,"  blurted  Toddie  with  much  feeling,  "  see 
that?" 

"  Eh?  "  ejaculated  Tam,  looking  up ;  "  see  what?  " 

"  That  — "  pointing  with  admiration  at  Bob, 
"  that 's  him  all  over.  He  's  settin'  me  an  example." 

"  But  —  but   you   wouldna  lick   ma   hand,   would 

ye?" 

"  Oh,  man,  ye  're  awful  slow  at  the  up-take !  It 's 
the  kindness  o'  him,  I  mean :  the  —  the  forgiveness. 
He  sees  ye  're  in  the  wrong,  but  he  canna  forget 
ye  're  in  his  house." 

218 


TODDIE 

For  a  moment  Tarn  stared  with  a  half-resentful, 
half-superstitious  amazement  at  the  peacemaker,  then, 
suddenly  doubling  upon  himself,  began  to  cough. 
The  fit  was  long-enduring.  It  was  moreover  aggra- 
vated by  sundry  well-meaning  thumps  administered 
by  Toddie. 

"  Stop !  That  '11  do  !  "  gasped  the  sufferer  when 
he  could  speak.  "  No  need  to  bash  me  like  that.  I 
havena  swallowed  onything.  I  havena  had  the 
chance,"  he  added  with  melancholy  insinuation. 

"  That 's  an  awful  cough  o'  yours,"  commented 
Toddie. 

"  Aye,  I  fear  I  'm  no'  long  for  this  world." 

"  You  should  see  a  doctor,  Tarn." 

"  Na,  not  me.  I  'm  awful  loath  to  undergo  a  doc- 
tor. I  mind  once  doctor  Brodie  gave  ma  Jean  a 
pill  to  take  next  her  stomach  at  night.  Ma  word! 
We  both  kept  wishin'  he  had  taken  it  hisself.  Na, 
na,  I  '11  just  slip  awa'  withoot  bein'  bothered." 

"  Weel,"  sympathized  his  friend,  inspecting  him 
with  interest,  "  maybe  ye  're  right.  Ye  're  an  auld 
man,  and  bald.  We  must  all  follow  oor  hair,  Tarn. 
It  leads  the  way.  When  it  goes,  it 's  time  to  shift." 

"  Hoots,  no !     Mony  a  young  man  is  bald." 

"  Mair  shame  to  him." 

"  And  then,  there  's  bairns  —  they  all  begins  bald." 

"  That 's  a  fact.  It  doesna  seem  natural.  There 
is  a  mony  queer  things  in  life,.  Tarn.  Bob  and  me 

219 


TODDIE 

thinks  a  loot  aboot  it  when  we  're  no'  bothered  by 
veesitors.  Ye  should  hear  the  beastie  whimperin'  in 
his  sleep.  He  's  just  puzzlin'  it  oot.  Aye,  life  's  a 
queer  thing.  I  whiles  think  it 's  like  waitin'  on  the 
first  tee  withoot  a  number.  Ye  just  dawdle  aboot, 
and  crack  with  yer  friends;  and  then,  all  at  once, 
when  ye  're  least  expectin'  it,  ye  're  name  's  called." 

"  Maybe,"  said  Tarn  doubtfully,  "  maybe,  but  as 
you  was  sayin'  I  'm  an  auld  man,  and  I  dinna  want 
to  start  the  carryin'  again.  I  've  had  enough  o'  it." 

"  Never  fear.  That 's  anither  thing  I  've  found 
oot.  Ye  see,  ye  '11  feel  different  when  ye  're  dead. 
The  Lorrd  wull  see  to  that.  Ye  're  like  an  auld  golf- 
ball,  Tarn.  He  '11  just  remake  ye.  Nae  doot  ye  '11 
fly  straight  when  ye  're  an  angel.  Oh,  aye !  " 

This  blend  of  professional  and  angelic  fancy 
caused  Tarn  to  gaze  anxiously  into  Toddie's  face, 
but  his  host,  serious  and  thoughtful,  was  frowning 
at  the  fire. 

"  Will  ye  no'  take  something? "  asked  Toddie, 
suddenly  awaking  to  the  exigencies  of  hospitality. 

Tarn  brightened. 

"  A  drink  ?  "  suggested  Toddie,  not  without  hesi- 
tation. 

Tarn  brightened  still  more. 

"A  cup  o'  tea?" 

The  light  faded  from  Tarn's  eyes.  He  shook  his 
220 


TODDIE 

head,  but  the  point  of  his  tongue  was  seen  to  pass 
wistfully  across  his  lips. 

"  Ye  '11  get  none  here,"  blurted  Toddie,  shoving 
back  his  chair,  and  speaking  with  great  energy. 

"How's  that?" 

Toddie  opened  his  mouth  to  explain;  but  under 
the  influence  of  a  second  thought,  closed  it  again. 

"  That  'ull  no'  be  a  bottle  I  see  there  ?  "  inquired 
his  guest,  in  the  tone  of  one  reluctant  to  doubt  the 
evidence  of  his  senses. 

"  Aye,"  said  Toddie  dryly. 

"  Weel  then  — " 

"It's    empty." 

"Aw!" 

"  I  emptied  it  maself .  It  was  the  ither  night  — 
after  you  left." 

"  I  havena  a  doubt  o'  that,"  murmured  Tarn  with 
envy. 

"  No'  the  way  you  're  thinkin',"  continued  Toddie 
gloomily.  He  frowned  heavily  at  his  boots,  then 
added,  "  I  emptied  it  into  the  grate." 

This  information  was  the  last  straw.  Tarn,  in- 
credulous, apprehensive,  more  than  half  inclined  to 
disbelieve  his  ears,  stared  at  Toddie ;  who,  in  his  turn, 
gazed  mournfully,  yet  not  without  austere  self -ap- 
proval at  the  lucky  grate. 

"  Were  ye  drunk  ?  "  whispered  Tarn. 
221 


TODDIE 

Toddie  sighed.  "  No,"  he  said  wistfully.  "  Not 
whit  you  would  call  drunk,  but  just  — 

"  I  see." 

"  But  that  wasna  the  reason,"  cried  Toddie,  hastily 
flinging  out  a  hand. 

"No?" 

"  No,  Tarn,  that  wasna  the  reason." 

He  paused,  shook  his  head,  then  again  sighed 
deeply. 

"  Yes  ?  "  suggested  the  old  man. 

"  It  was  — ,"  murmured  Toddie  softly,  still  gazing 
at  the  fire,  and  more  than  half  unconscious  of  an 
auditor,  "  it  was  for  her  sake." 

"  For  her  sake?  "  ejaculated  Tarn  loudly. 

Toddie  jumped;  and  flushing  to  his  very  ears,  re- 
quested his  guest  to  mind  his  own  business. 


222 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

TEA,  black,  strong,  and  substantially  assisted  by 
bread  and  cheese,  at  length  succeeded  in  restor- 
ing harmony.  Having  got  the  better  of  his  disap- 
pointment, Tarn  applied  himself  philosophically  to 
the  meal  with  an  avidity  almost  as  intense  as  though 
its  component  parts  were  by  nature  purely  alcoholic. 
Bob  and  Toddie  watched  his  exertions,  the  former 
with  tremulous  interest,  the  latter  with  envy. 

It  would  have  puzzled  Tarn  had  he  been  requested 
to  trace  the  associations  of  ideas  that  again  led  the 
conversation  to  women.  It  seemed  to  him  later,  how- 
ever, that  his  every  remark  appeared,  from  the  con- 
struction put  upon  it  by  his  host,  to  be  a  distinct 
allusion  to  the  hitherto  forbidden  sex.  Thus,  when 
he  mumbled  praises  of  Toddie's  tea,  he  learned  to 
his  amazement  that  the  beverage  to  be  properly  ap- 
preciated ought  to  be  poured  out  by  a  woman  —  not 
just  any  woman,  the  Lord  forbid,  but  one  who,  he 
was  sternly  warned,  must  forever  remain  nameless. 

This,  in  addition  to  similar  pieces  of  information, 
was  volunteered  in  a  manner  so  mournful  and  mys- 
terious, so  fraught  with  hidden  meaning,  and  was 

223 


TODDIE 

accompanied  moreover  with  such  sudden  and  for- 
bidding frowns,  such  deep  and  inexplicable  sighs, 
that  as  the  meal  progressed  Tarn  became  more  and 
more  a  victim  to  bewilderment. 

"  To  see  me  settin'  here,  drinkin'  ma  own  tea, 
you  would  say  I  was  happy?  "  demanded  Toddie 
abruptly. 

Tarn  —  his  mouth  full  —  made  various  noises  in- 
tended to  express  his  hope  that  such  was  the  case. 
The  pitying  and  scornful  smile  with  which  these  were 
received  added  considerably  to  his  apprehension. 

"  I  havena  the  heart  to  eat,"  growled  his  host. 
"  I  dinna  seem  to  care  what  I  swallow.  Folk  just 
bother  me.  The  ither  day  I  ate  Bob's  dinner  by 
mistake,  so  I  did.  I  'm  aye  thinkin'  o'  something 
else.  Was  I  pleased  to  see  you  the  noo?  Weel, 
you  're  wrong.  Oh,  ye  might  have  thought  it  by 
what  I  said  —  I  grant  ye  that,  but  that  meant  nothin' 
—  I  was  just  makin'  maself  pleasant." 

Tarn  was  understood  to  mumble  that  he  approved 
of  the  effort.  But  Toddie  shook  his  head,  and  con- 
tinued absent  mindedly  to  count  the  remaining  lumps 
of  sugar. 

"  You  're  a  widower?  "  he  mused,  transfixing  Tarn 
with  melancholy  eyes. 

Tarn  assented  with  indifference. 

"  Man !  "  blurted  his  host,  "  I  wonder  ye  can  eat." 

Much    alarmed,    Tarn    suspended    operations ;    but 


TODDIE 

finding  that  Toddie  had  again  forgotten  him,  he  fur- 
tively continued  the  meal. 

"  What  like  was  she?  "  questioned  Toddie,  after  a 
long  pause. 

"What  like?  Aw—"  Tarn  scratched  his  head. 
"  She  was  just  like  ony  ither  woman." 

"  Nonsense.  Is  Div  —  I  mean  is  Bob  like  ony 
ither  dog?  Is  the  Major  like  ony  ither  man?  Was 
she  wee  or  big?  Answer  me  that." 

After  reflection  Tarn  thought  she  might  safely  be 
described  as  "  wee."  Pressed  further,  he  with  much 
hesitation  put  her  down  as  "  fair." 

"  An'  ye  married  a  woman  like  that ! "  exclaimed 
his  host  in  tones  of  the  utmost  commiseration. 

Time  and  the  links  had  so  effectually  dulled  Tarn's 
sensibilities  that  he  did  not  resent  this  aspersion  upon 
his  matrimonial  taste.  Toddie  was  queer  —  queerer 
than  ever.  What  of  it  ?  He  —  Tarn  —  was  no 
longer  hungry  or  cold.  Puffing  with  tremulous  sat- 
isfaction at  a  borrowed  pipe,  he  congratulated  him- 
self that  he  was  saving  his  own  tobacco. 

The  wind,  howling  without,  but  emphasized  the 
cosiness  of  the  little  kitchen,  warmly  illuminated  by 
the  lamp  and  the  leaping  flames  of  the  good  coal 
fire.  The  old  man  had  no  wish  to  talk,  still  less  did 
he  desire  to  quarrel.  Sunk  into  a  state  of  bodily 
well-being  he  forgot  decrepitude,  poverty,  anxiety  — 
forgot  his  cheerless  home,  the  weary  treadmill  of  the 
15  225 


TODDIE 

links,  the  short  and  desolate  span  of  life  still  allotted 
to  him  —  forgot  even  the  days,  now  gone  forever, 
when  he  too  had  known  strength,  and  hope,  and  love. 
With  his  head  bent  forward  and  the  firelight  playing 
over  the  deep  furrows  of  his  weather-beaten  counte- 
nance he  gave  himself  up  to  the  realization  of  an 
unusually  comfortable  present. 

Toddie  looked  at  him.  Something  in  his  guest's 
appearance  caused  the  little  caddie's  heart  to  expand 
with  the  pity  and  the  pleasure  it  would  have  felt  had 
Tarn  been  a  stray  dog.  Yet  so  unprepossessing  did 
the  old  man  appear  that  Toddie  —  to  whom  speaking 
was  but  audible  thinking  —  blurted  incredulously  — 

"  Ye  mean  to  tell  me  she  loved  ye  ?  " 

"  Eh?  "  said  Tarn,  blinking.  "  What 's  that  ye  're 
sayin'?" 

"  Yer  wife.     Did  she  love  ye  ?  " 

"  Aye,  did  she."  He  drew  himself  up  —  his  voice 
seemed  to  find  a  long-forgotten  note  of  self-assurance. 
"  She  was  awful  fond  o'  me,  Toddie.  I  mind  sittin' 
like  this  at  the  fire  and  never  thinkin'  o'  her,  an'  her 
comin'  behind  an*  strokin'  ma  hair.  She  was  a  fine 
cook.  I  never  taste  a  haggis  withoot  thinkin'  o'  her. 
We  was  one  flesh,  ye  may  say." 

Toddie  leaning  forward,  his  hands  on  his  knees, 
listened  eagerly. 

"  Aye,"  continued  Tarn,  spitting  into  the  fire  and 
visibly  flattered  by  his  host's  attention.  "  She  was 


TODDIE 

real  bonnie  once.  Mony  a  lad  was  after  her.  There 
was  Jock  Simpson.  Ye  mind  him?  No?  Weel, 
he 's  been  in  the  kirkyard  this  forty  year.  And 
Willie  Herd,  and  Alec  Gow,  all  braw  lads.  But  she 
liked  me  best.  She  was  aye  particular." 

He  made  a  movement  as  though  to  adjust  his  col- 
lar, but  finding  none,  meandered  on: 

"  I  couldna  bring  maself  to  say  the  word  — " 

"  I  can  understand  that,"  interrupted  the  listener 
with  sympathy. 

"  Can  ye  ?  Aye,  it  grips  ye.  Ye  feel  dry.  It 's 
worse  nor  wantin'  a  drink.  Weel,  Toddie,  one  day 
me  and  her  was  on  the  rocks.  I  mind  she  was  lookin' 
at  the  sea.  Thinks  I  — *  She 's  forgotten  me.' 
Hoots,  I  was  young  and  easy  took  in."  He  smiled 
knowingly. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Toddie. 

"  Weel,  I  mind  tryin'  to  speak,  but,  as  I  was  sayin', 
the  words  wouldna  come.  Then  —  what  think  ye?  " 

He  paused  and  looked  up  with  a  sly  twinkle  into 
the  serious  and  deeply  interested  face  of  his  host. 

"  I  found  a  piece  o'  chalk." 

"  A  piece  o'  chalk  ?  "  repeated  Toddie,  mystified. 

"  Just  that.  Ye  see,  there  was  a  black  rock  at  ma 
feet,  so  I  writes  on  it :  '  Will  ye  have  me  ?  '  '  What 's 
that?  '  says  she.  Women  are  aye  curious,  Toddie, 
they  canna  help  — " 

"  Go  on  wi'  yer  story,  man." 
227 


TODDIE 

"  Aye,  aye,  but  dinna  fluster  me.  Weel,  I  put  the 
chalk  doon  and  looks  away.  Ma  heart  was  like  to 
choke  me.  '  What  will  she  say?  '  thinks  I.  But  she 
said  nothin'." 

"  She  said  nothin',  Tarn  ?  "  Toddie's  voice  be- 
trayed unaccountable  disappointment. 

"  Na !  but  bide  a  wee.  There  's  more  to  come." 
The  old  man  chuckled  in  smiling  reminiscence,  rub- 
bing his  claw-like  hands  up  and  down  the  legs  of  his 
trousers ;  then  sobering : 

"  I  confess  to  ye  I  was  nervous.  I  could  hear  her 
moving,  but  darena  look  round.  After  a  wee  whiley 
I  keeked  at  her.  She  was  standin'  verra  straight 
and  still,  wi'  her  back  turned,  but  on  the  rock  just  be- 
low what  I  'd  written  was  the  one  word,  *  Yes.' —  Ma 
God !  Toddie,  I  '11  —  I  '11  never  forget  it." 

Toddie  stared  at  him.  All  at  once  he  seemed  to  see 
his  guest  in  a  new  light.  Then  he  said  slowly : 

"  I  never  thought  it  could  be  done  like  that." 

"  D'  ye  never  read  yer  Citizen?  "  asked  Tarn  with 
mild  superiority. 

"  Whiles.     No'  verra  often." 

"  Weel,  ye  should.  There  was  a  bonnie  story  all 
aboot  it  no'  sae  lang  syne.  But  ye  're  no'  listenin'  ?  " 

"  D'  ye  think  gentlemen  like  —  club  members,  I 
mean  —  asks  leddies  that  way  ?  " 

"  Of  course  they  does,"  assured  Tarn  with  great 
energy.  "  Was  he  no'  a  duke  in  the  story  ?  You 

228 


TODDIE 

should  ha'  read  it,  Toddie.  His  letter  to  her  was 
amazin' — just  amazin'.  I  didna  think  there  was  so 
mony  fine  words  in  the  language.  And  clever !  — 
See  here,  it  was  that  clever  I  didna  understand  half 
o'  it." 


229 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  rupture  with  Toddle  had  results  more  un- 
expected and  disconcerting  than  Devina  had  an- 
ticipated. It  cast  a  shadow  over  her  life.  For  the 
time  being  it  even  warped  her  character.  It  filled  her, 
even  as  it  did  him,  with  indefinable  melancholy.  Not 
that  she  allowed  this  incomprehensible  heart-sickness 
to  interfere  with  the  discharge  of  her  duties.  On  the 
contrary,  it  goaded  her  into  a  fever  of  activity.  La- 
bor dulled  the  ache,  made  her  forget  the  emptiness. 
She  found  in  it,  if  not  an  antidote,  at  least  an  outlet. 
Never  before  had  she  been  so  dour,  so  inexorable,  so 
despotic.  Never  before  had  she  been  so  full  of  en- 
ergy, so  strenuous,  so  unsparing  of  herself  or  of 
others.  Work  negligently  performed  was  to  her  what 
the  red  rag  is  to  the  bull.  It  stirred  her  to  anger. 
It  caused  her  to  explode  into  fierce  reproofs,  into  bit- 
ter sarcasm  —  for  which,  be  it  whispered,  she  re- 
proached herself  the  moment  they  were  uttered.  She 
would  fling  herself  into  the  breach  in  a  fury  of  zeal, 
and,  even  while  engaged  in  making  good  the  defection, 
would  lash  the  shirker  with  the  full  force  of  her  in- 
•temperate  tongue. 

230 


TODDIE 

Jessie  was  the  principal  sufferer  during  those  evil 
days.  Many  times  did  that  volatile  damsel,  dissolved 
into  tears,  fly  to  the  cook  for  sympathy  and  support, 
and  the  two  women  taking  counsel  together,  would 
plan  petty  retaliations  with  which  to  harass  the 
tyrant.  Their  efforts  met  with  the  failure  they  mer- 
ited. They  fell  harmlessly  to  the  ground,  blunted 
against  the  armor  of  Devina's  profound  and  con- 
temptuous indifference. 

Had  her  companions  but  known  how  near  Devina 
herself  was  oftentimes  to  the  tears  she  so  unsparingly 
ridiculed,  it  is  probable  that  in  their  amazement  they 
would  have  left  her  alone.  But  they  were  never  to 
know  it. 

Another  apparently  unaccountable  result  of  the 
break  was  that  Devina  wavered  in  her  self-imposed 
task  of  guarding  her  young  mistress.  The  exact 
reason  is  not  easy  to  find.  It  may  have  been  either 
that  her  own  dawning  partiality  for  one  of  the  op- 
posite sex  was  to  a  certain  extent  responsible,  or  that 
deprived  of  Toddie's  assistance  she  lost  heart.  Dimly 
she  herself  surmised  the  latter.  It  inflamed  her  to 
fresh  wrath.  That  that  which  she  had  so  near  to  her 
heart  should  be  thwarted  by  the  delinquency  of  a 
man  was  a  state  of  affairs  not  to  be  countenanced  for 
a  moment.  Grimly,  obstinately,  she  strove  to  carry 
on  the  combat  single-handed.  But  the  effort  was  be- 
yond her.  The  strange  apathy  from  which  she  suf- 


TODDIE 

fered,  and  for  which  she  was  at  a  loss  to  account, 
paralyzed  her  efforts.  The  persistency  of  the  Major 
and  the  gay,  unconscious,  and  innocent  opposition  of 
Charity  foiled  her  at  every  point. 

Yet,  all  unawares  within  her  breast,  the  seed  sown 
by  Charity  was  slowly  taking  root.  The  change  came 
gradually,  imperceptibly,  with  unforeseen  rallies  and 
relapses,  like  the  capricious  transitions  of  winter  pass- 
ing into  spring. 

Had  she,  after  all,  judged  the  man  too  harshly? 
Had  she  made  allowance  sufficient  for  his  upbringing, 
his  irregular  life,  his  vicious  companions? 

Brooding  over  his  memory  with  a  newly  awakened 
and  wholly  involuntary  leniency,  much  that  was 
praiseworthy  leapt  unbidden  to  her  mind  —  his  sim- 
plicity, honesty,  loyalty. 

Fain  would  she  have  discredited  their  existence  —  so 
loath  was  she  to  admit  that  aught  good  was  to  be 
found  in  man  —  but  they  would  not  be  denied.  They 
returned  to  her  with  the  recollection  of  his  every  look, 
his  every  spoken  word.  With  a  sense  of  justice,  as 
strong  as  it  was  impartial,  she  placed  them  all  to  his 
credit.  As  she  realized  them,  instinctively  and  with 
a  vague  reluctant  feeling  of  satisfaction,  she  discov- 
ered that  whatever  his  faults,  yes,  even  despite  his  un- 
substantiated claim  of  sobriety,  he  could  be  trusted. 
This  was  a  great  concession,  an  immense  advance,  for 
when  a  woman  decides  that  a  man  is  trustworthy  and 

232 


TODDIE 

experiences  sensible  pleasure  thereat,  it  is  because  she 
has  already,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  confided 
something  to  his  keeping. 

No  suspicion  of  sentiment  shed  the  rose-light  of 
dawning  romance  around  the  broken  friendship.  As 
far  as  Devina  was  aware,  her  thoughts  of  Toddie  were 
purely  practical.  Up  to  the  fatal  moment  when  she 
had  discovered  his  backsliding,  she  persuaded  herself 
that  he  had  been  only  a  coadjutor,  an  unpalatable 
but  necessary  part  of  the  concocted  plan.  Now  he 
represented  a  failure,  a  disappointment.  That  was 
all  —  at  least  all  she  would  confess  to  herself. 

This  obstinate  self-deception  was  singularly  char- 
acteristic of  Devina.  Hers  was  no  nature  to  transfer 
allegiance  lightly,  or  to  build  with  indelicate  precipi- 
tation upon  the  ruins  of  the  past.  Between  her  and 
the  possibility  of  a  second  lover  there  yawned  a  gulf 
which  she  deemed  forever  impassable,  an  aching  void 
wherein  lurked  the  demons  of  doubt  and  bitter  unbe- 
lief. 

Pondering  upon  him,  as  she  did  many  times,  even 
when  apparently  most  engrossed  in  work,  she  discov- 
ered that  he  reminded  her  of  her  father.  No  advo- 
cate more  powerful  could  have  been  found  to  plead 
Toddie's  cause. 

Deep  in  some  torture-chamber  of  her  soul  Devina 
still  suffered,  still  accused  herself  of  misapprehen- 
sion, and  even  of  cruelty.  The  shock  of  her  father's 

233 


TODDIE 

death  was  with  her  always,  a  grievous  and  abiding 
calamity.  Merciless  in  her  judgments  upon  herself, 
the  memory  of  that  terrible  day  when  something  un- 
der a  tarpaulin,  something  motionless  that  dripped, 
had  been  carried  into  her  home,  was  like  an  inexora- 
ble voice  crying  aloud,  reiterating  her  guilt.  That 
she  had  acted  rigidly  according  to  her  comprehension 
of  the  right  mattered  nothing.  The  result  had  been 
calamitous.  She  had  failed,  and  failure  gnawed  at 
her  heart.  How  unavailing  was  remorse !  He  was 
dead.  And  the  unfeeling  world  went  on  just  the 
same.  Forgetting  his  many  shortcomings,  Devina 
remembered  only  that  she  might  have  been  kinder. 

This  unexpected,  and  indeed  disconcerting  resem- 
blance gave  her  pause.  In  a  tremor  of  alarm  she 
asked  herself  if  she  had  not  been  guilty  of  another 
injustice.  For  a  moment  she  was  beset  with  doubt, 
softened,  womanly,  full  of  generous  impulses,  yearn- 
ing to  make  compensation,  longing  to  right  the  wrong. 
But  the  mood  passed.  The  recollection  of  Toddie's 
deception,  flashing  to  mind,  caused  her  to  harden. 
She  did  not  believe  that  he  had  amended  his  evil  ways. 
No !  no !  —  that  was  all  Miss  Charity's  credulity. 
The  memory  of  her  own  weakness  fanned  the  flame. 
Grimmer  and  more  forbidding  than  ever  she  flung 
repentance  to  the  winds. 

But  the  reaction  came  again  when,  her  duties  for 
the  day  over,  she  was  alone  in  her  bedroom.  The  lit- 

234 


TODDIE 

tie  room  was  to  her  a  sanctuary.  It  was  a  part  of  her- 
self:  its  austerity  and  air  of  cloistered  quiet  were  as 
the  reflection  of  her  soul  —  its  exquisite  cleanliness 
and  neatness  as  the  mirror  of  her  life.  A  text  nailed 
to  the  wall  and  a  photograph  of  her  father  were  its 
only  adornments.  There,  freed  from  all  observation 
and  from  the  necessity  of  self-control,  she  would  give 
herself  up  to  the  moods  that  laid  imperative  hands 
upon  her.  Often  an  immense  discouragement  would 
fall  like  a  crape  veil  upon  her  spirits.  Often,  too,  a 
pathetic  wistfulness  would  cause  her  lips  to  tremble 
and  her  heart  to  swell. 

Many  a  time  would  she  stand  at  her  little  window 
gazing  outwards  at  the  rain-swept  street,  while  the 
mournful  blasts  howled  and  sobbed,  seeing  nothing, 
hearing  nothing,  absorbed  and  tortured  by  the  dis- 
tracting chaos  of  her  thoughts.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
at  such  moments  she  came  face  to  face  with  her  own 
heart.  Arraigned  before  its  judgment  seat  dissimu- 
lation was  no  longer  possible.  Her  mask  of  indigna- 
tion dropped  from  her ;  anger  and  even  bitterness  were 
forgotten.  Her  whole  mental  attitude  became  one  of 
painful  indecision,  of  interminable  questionings,  of 
one  seeking  the  truth  with  all  the  might  of  her  tor- 
mented heart. 

And  the  truth  came  to  her,  as  it  comes  always  to 
those  who  seek  it  with  sincerity.  It  stood  before  her 
in  the  darkness,  and  its  voice  was  sad  and  hopeless  as 

235 


TODDIE 

the  wind  that  sighed  without.  It  said :  "  Devina, 
you  are  unhappy.  You  miss  this  man.  You  care  for 
him  more  than  you  think.  You  have  been  merciless, 
cruel,  hasty  as  you  always  are.  This  is  your  punish- 
ment. You  have  lost  your  one  chance  of  happiness. 
No  one  will  ever  care  to  meet  you  now.  All  your  life 
you  will  be  sad  and  lonely  and  desolate." 


236 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ONE  evening  Charity  had  occasion  to  send  to  the 
chemist. 

"  I  '11  go,"  said  Devina,  and  marched  upstairs  to 
put  on  her  hat. 

"  Goin'  out  ?  "  cried  the  cook  in  astonishment,  when 
Devina  appeared  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Are  ye  after  meetin'  onybody  ?  "  asked  Jessie. 

Devina  denied  the  insinuation  with  scorn,  but 
flushed  as  she  saw  them  exchange  smiles. 

"  Chemist  ?  "  inquired  the  cook  skeptically  of  the 
contents  of  her  frying  pan. 

"  It  was  coal  last  time,"  tittered  Jessie,  turning 
from  the  contemplation  of  her  face  in  a  pocket  mir- 
ror. "  Are  ye  ashamed  o'  him,  Devina  ?  " 

But  Devina,  disdaining  to  answer,  swept  past  her 
tormentors,  and  letting  herself  into  the  night,  banged 
the  kitchen  door  behind  her. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Then  the  cook 
tasted  a  sauce  critically,  wiped  a  red  finger  on  her 
apron,  and  wagging  an  ominous  head  towards  the 
door,  said: 

"  I  wouldna  trust  her  the  length  o'  a  clothes  line. 
237 


TODDIE 

Dark  ones  are  ay  deep."  She  ruminated  over  this 
incriminating  fact  for  some  time,  then  with  a  burst  of 
resentment  and  jerking  impatiently  at  the  regulator: 
"  Interf erin'  thing !  I  've  no  patience  with  her." 

"  Settin'  herself  up  to  be  that  partic'lar,  too," 
chimed  in  Jessie  in  a  high  aggrieved  voice ;"  as  if  it 
was  a  lassie's  fault  that  the  men  prefer  a  bonnie 
face." 

"  I  sometimes  wonder  hers  doesna  turn  the  milk," 
agreed  the  cook.  "  Hand  me  the  salt,  Jessie.  Now 
mark  ma  words,  ma  name  's  no  Lizzie  McCrum  if  I 
dinna  give  ye  ill  news  o'  her  one  day.  There  was 
just  such  anither  black  woman  in  ma  last  place. 
Black  's  the  color  o'  Satan." 

"  They  say  queer  things  about  her  in  the  dining- 
room  already,"  mused  Jessie,  arranging  a  curl. 

"  Is  that  a  fact?  "  ejaculated  her  companion,  turn- 
ing hastily. 

"  Aye,  at  lunch  the  ither  day  —  Friday  it  was  — 
ye  mind  we  'd  company  —  says  wee  Miss  Stewart 
eatin'  her  third  meringue,  says  she :  '  Devina  's  a 
character.'  What  did  she  mean  by  that?  " 

The  cook's  brows  puckered. 

"  Did  she  say  is  a  character,  or  has  a  character?  " 

"  Is." 

"  That 's  queer.  But,  hoots,  I  wouldna  set  much 
store  by  what  that  wee  thing  says.  Always  at  the 
cards,  I  hear.  I  doubt  if  she  can  plain  boil  a  potato. 

238 


TODDIE 

*  /*  a  character?  '  There  's  no  sense  in  that.  And 
what  does  the  likes  o'  her  ken  aboot  Devina's  charac- 
ter onyway?  She  should  come  to  me." 

"  Or  me,"  snapped  Jessie  spitefully,  but  the  cook 
swept  on; 

"  But  there,  that 's  the  gentry  all  over.  To  folk 
like  them  a  lassie's  character  is  not  what  she  is,  but 
what  her  last  mistress  thinks  she  is  n't." 

"  That 's  a  true  word,"  acquiesced  Jessie,  with  feel- 
ing. 

"  And  more  nor  that,"  cried  the  cook  with  the 
warmth  of  one  airing  an  ancient  grievance.  "  Them 
leddies  just  chuck  aboot  our  characters  from  one  to 
the  ither,  withoot  as  much  as  by  yer  leave.  No  char- 
acter will  stand  that.  Na,  na,  ye  must  handle  a  char- 
acter cannily.  Ye  must  take  it  with  faith,  like  — 
like  ye  do  an  egg." 

"  What  a  beautiful  thought,  cook,"  murmured  Jes- 
sie, with  admiration.  "  Ye  put  me  in  mind  o'  a 
book." 

"  Aye,  a  cookery  book.  But  I  've  no'  been  a  cook 
ten  year  for  nothin'.  Now  I  could  tell  your  character 
better  nor  Miss  Charity  ony  day." 

"  Could  ye?  "  cried  Jessie,  not  without  anxiety. 

"  Aye,  could  I.  But  never  fear ;  I  'm  not  one  to 
spoil  a  lassie's  chance.  Now,  stop  yer  talkin' ;  I  must 
attend  to  ma  fish." 

Meanwhile  Devina  was  nearing  the  town.  The 
239 


TODDIE 

night  was  dark,  yet  not  black,  for  a  glimmer  of  star- 
light was  in  the  air.  A  hint  of  spring  was  percepti- 
ble —  a  languor  and  warmth,  as  yet  unseasonable, 
but  which  needed  only  the  confirmation  of  another 
month  to  express  itself  in  leaves.  From  time  to  time, 
as  Devina  strode  past  the  openings  that  led  to  the 
sea,  she  was  met  by  the  voices  of  waves.  Murmur- 
ing to  her  softly  out  of  the  darkness  they  drew  her 
thoughts  from  human  strife  to  the  contemplation  of 
the  infinite.  As  she  listened,  her  bosom  swelled  with 
feelings  that  eluded  language,  even  as  they  eluded 
comprehension.  Vaguely  wondering  at  herself,  she 
allowed  a  gentler  mood  to  take  possession  of  her ;  her 
pace  involuntarily  relaxed,  the  poise  of  her  head 
became  less  defiant,  and,  seen  by  the  light  of  an  occa- 
sional lamp,  her  expression  was  characterized  by  a 
sweet  and  dreaming  solemnity. 

At  the  corner  of  Grey  Friars'  Gardens  she  hesitated. 
Either  of  two  streets  now  led  to  her  destination.  By 
the  one  she  would  pass  within  a  few  yards  of  Tod- 
die's  house ;  by  the  other,  and  nearest  way,  she  would 
give  it  a  wider  berth.  She  chose  the  former. 

Her  commission  transacted,  she  turned  her  steps 
homeward.  Her  pace  relaxed  still  more.  An  inex- 
plicable feeling  of  disappointment  came  stealing  over 
her.  She  did  not  analyze  it,  yet  she  could  not  doubt 
its  existence,  though  it  was  less  palpable  than  the  star- 
light, less  visible  than  the  wind.  It  was  like  a  sea 

240 


TODDIE 

mist  through  whose  diaphanous  folds  she  saw  the  pres- 
ent stretching  itself  in  weary  and  lonely  monotony  far 
into  an  illimitable  future. 

Passers-by  looked  at  her.  But  Devina  heeded  not. 
Engrossed  in  her  thoughts,  dignified,  stately,  yet  con- 
veying to  the  thoughtful  observer  an  impression  of 
strength  and  grace  of  movement,  she  pursued  her  soli- 
tary way. 

She  had  retraced  some  two-thirds  of  her  road,  and 
had  left  the  more  crowded  thoroughfares  behind  her, 
when  she  was  startled  by  a  familiar  voice,  high  pitched 
and  incredulous. 

"  That  'ull  no'  be  Devina  Greig?  " 

Turning  hastily,  Devina  recognized  Tarn  Macin- 
tyre.  They  were  old  acquaintances,  for  Tarn  still 
occupied  the  house  in  Castle  Street,  next  door  to  the 
one  that  had  been  her  home. 

"  Aye,  it 's  me,"  she  assented,  not  ungraciously. 

Tarn  cautiously  detached  himself  from  a  lamp- 
post. 

"  Dearie  me !  dearie  me ! "  he  mused,  oscillating 
gently.  "  I  've  not  seen  ye  this  long  while  back." 
Then  with  an  interest  and  warmth  of  affection  that 
surprised  himself,  he  added :  "  Ye  're  doin'  weel,  I 
hope?" 

"  Fine,"  said  Devina. 

"  That 's  right.  I  'm  glad  to  hear  ye  say  that. 
Not  that  I  had  ma  doubts.  Oh,  no !  for  ye  were  aye 


TODDIE 

steady.  Still,  I'm  glad,  for  ye  see — "  he  touched 
her  sleeve  with  a  timidly  propitiatory  gesture,  "  ye 
see,  I  aye  liked  yer  father." 

A  wave  of  self-reproach  broke  in  memories  over 
Devina.  She  did  not  speak,  for  she  was  back  in  the 
past. 

Tarn,  peering  up  at  her  and  trying  to  consolidate 
her  image  into  a  single,  stable,  and  recognizable  en- 
tity, wondered  nervously  if  he  had  offended. 

A  man  passed  them  —  his  footsteps  ringing  loud 
on  the  stone  pavement  —  and  seeing  them  standing 
silent  and  motionless,  smiled  as  he  scented  a  misunder- 
standing. 

"  You  're  still  at  the  carryin',  I  suppose  ?  "  in- 
quired Devina.  She  put  the  question  without  interest, 
and  without  looking  at  him;  influenced,  it  would  ap- 
pear, by  motives  of  forced  politeness. 

Tarn  replied  with  a  dreary  affirmative.  He  then 
proceeded  to  discuss  the  state  of  the  links,  wandering 
from  thence  into  pathetic  details  connected  with  his 
private  affairs.  But  his  words  came  thickly  and  with 
difficulty,  and  soon  broke  off,  for  he  saw  with  dull  dis- 
appointment that  she  was  not  listening. 

Under  the  vertical  rays  of  the  lamp  she  stood  mo- 
tionless, gazing  with  unseeing  eyes  into  the  distance. 
Her  clear-cut,  regular,  and  severely  handsome  fea- 
tures, partially  illuminated,  betrayed  the  melancholy 
trend  of  her  thoughts.  Her  dejection  communicated 


TODDIE 

itself  to  her  companion.  The  flicker  of  artificial 
courage,  inspired  by  drink,  that  had  emboldened  him 
to  speak  to  her,  oozed  from  out  his  timid  heart,  leav- 
ing in  its  place  a  vague  regret  that  he  had  not  al- 
lowed her  to  pass  unchallenged. 

The  night  wind  breathed  gently  upon  them,  and 
from  above,  the  stars  looked  down. 

"Who  was  in  your  match  to-day?"  inquired  De- 
vina  abruptly.  As  she  spoke  she  turned  and  looked 
full  at  him. 

"  Ma  match  ?  The  day  ?  "  stammered  Tarn,  taken 
by  surprise.  "  Let  me  see  —  ye  mean  who  was  I  car- 
ry in'  for?  " 

"  No." 

"  No  ?  Oh,  I  see  —  ye  mean  who  was  the  ither  man 
carryin'  for?  " 

"  I  mean  nothing  o'  the  sort." 

Her  anger,  not  only  unexpected,  but  undeserved, 
caused  Tarn  to  gape. 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  spoke  like  that,"  she  muttered  awk- 
wardly. "  You  was  right.  It  —  it  was  that  I  was 
meanin'." 

"  Who  was  the  ither  man  carryin'  for?  " 

"  Aye." 

"  For  Major  Dale." 

She  made  no  comment;  but  Tarn,  watching  he* 
nervously,  saw  her  straighten  herself  and  draw  a  deep 
breath.  The  sight  revived  his  courage. 

243 


TODDIE 

"  It  was  a  grand  match,"  he  quavered,  in  smiling 
reminiscence,  "  though  to  tell  ye  the  honest  truth,  De- 
vina,  I  wouldna  have  got  into  it  had  it  no'  been  for 
Toddie." 

He  nodded  with  conviction.  Then  suddenly  aware 
that  she  was  listening  to  him,  he  continued  earnestly 
and  with  a  pleasant  and  unfamiliar  feeling  of  im- 
portance : 

"  He  's  been  a  good  friend  to  me,  I  'm  tellin'  ye. 
There  's  few  like  him.  Here  t  See  them  trousers  ? 
They  were  Major  Dale's  once.  I  canna  tell  ye  all 
Toddie  's  done  for  me,  ye  wouldna  believe  it.  He 
gets  me  into  his  matches  whenever  he  can,  and  not 
only  that,  but  keeps  his  eye  on  both  balls !  Not  that 
I  'm  needin'  it,"  he  added  quickly,  "  for  I  can  see  fine ; 
but  that 's  just  to  show  ye  his  kindness  o'  heart. 
Aye,  an'  we  never  lost  one  the  day,  but,  hoots,  ye  're 
a  woman  and  ye  '11  no'  ken  all  that  means,  and  maybe 
1 5m  wearyin'  ye  ?  " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Devina. 

Tarn  —  who  asked  nothing  better  —  continued  to 
enumerate  instances  of  Toddie's  good  nature.  Bob 
was  instanced  as  a  witness,  likewise  the  Major.  Tod- 
die's  past  supplied  subject-matter  for  several  long- 
winded  anecdotes  of  a  professional  nature;  and  it  is 
curious  to  note  that,  though  these  were  related  in 
Tarn's  worst  manner,  Devina's  attention  never 
wavered. 

£44 


TODDIE 

At  length,  having  exhausted  his  store  of  panegyric, 
Tarn  confessed  that  the  present  state  of  Toddie's 
health  gave  him  cause  for  anxiety. 

At  this,  he  paused,  anticipating  a  question,  but 
none  came.  Yet,  that  he  still  held  her  interest  was 
past  question,  for  as  she  stood  before  him  in  the  yel- 
low lamp-light,  there  was  apparent  a  tension  and 
rigidity  in  her  attitude  that  betokened  one  who  waits. 

"  He  's  no'  like  the  same  man,"  sighed  Tarn. 

"What's  wrong  with  him?"  she  asked  with  ap- 
parent indifference.  Tarn's  fingers  played  tentatively 
over  the  bristles  of  a  five  days'  beard. 

"  That 's  what  I  canna  exactly  make  oot.  Ye 
might  say  it  was  the  one  thing,  and  ye  might  say  it 
was  the  ither,  and  whatever  ye  said  ye  might  be 
wrong." 

Stung  by  her  exclamation  he  continued  quickly: 
"  Not  that  I  havena  ma  suspeecions.  Oh,  aye !  I 
may  be  slow  at  the  uptake,  as  Toddie  says,  but  I 
can  see  through  him  with  all  his  cleverness,  so  I 
can. 

"  It 's  queer  it  should  have  come  to  him,"  he  con- 
tinued after  a  slight  pause.  "  It 's  like  a  judgment. 
It  doesna  seem  natural.  Sandy  Herd,  now,  ye  could 
understand,  though  I  'd  be  awful  sorry  for  the  lassie. 
But  Toddle!  It  beats  all !  " 

His  wheezy  old  man's  laughter  terminated  in  a  fit 
of  coughing.  Devina  looked  on  grimly.  When  he 

245 


TODDIE 

had  recovered,  she  said  scornfully,  "  No  doot  it 's 
funny,  but  I  canna  see  — " 

"  Canna  see!  "  he  interrupted,  with  tremulous  en- 
ergy. "  Canna  see !  When  I  'm  tellin'  ye  that  it 's 
a  woman ! " 

Her  start  was  not  lost  upon  him,  but  before  he 
could  speak  again  a  man  lurched  past  them  and,  rec- 
ognizing Tarn,  inquired  with  a  hiccough  if  they  had 
leased  the  pavement. 

"  That 's  Sandy  Herd,"  whispered  Tarn  to  his  com- 
panion ;  "  him  I  was  tellin'  ye  about.  See  him !  Ma 
word,  he  was  near  doon  that  time !  These  railin's  are 
fine  useful  things.  There  he  goes.  A  shilling's 
worth  o'  whusky  there,  I  '11  take  ma  oath.  Bravo, 
Sandy !  If  ye  can  keep  yer  legs  as  far  as  the  Tem- 
perance Hall  it 's  all  ye  can  manage  the  night.  To 
think—" 

He  was  interrupted  by  her  voice,  grave  and  full  of 
constraint : 

"Who  is  she?" 

Tarn  stared  anxiously.  What  was  wrong  with  the 
woman  ? 

"  I  dinna  ken,"  he  faltered,  still  wondering,  and 
gazing  timidly  at  the  outline  of  her  averted  face.  "  I 
ken  everything  aboot  her  except  her  name." 

"  How  's  that?  "     She  had  turned  impulsively. 

"  Ah,  ye  're  astonished !  Ye  didna  think  I  was  that 
clever?  Folk  are  aye  deceived  aboot  me." 

246 


TODDIE 

But  his  complacent  chuckle  died  before  the  trouble 
in  her  eyes. 

"  I  ken  she  's  big  and  black,"  he  went  on.  "  Aye, 
and  hard  to  move.  Bob  likes  her.  And  Toddie 
thinks  all  the  world  of  her.  She  gave  him  tea  once. 
There  's  some  secret  between  them,  though  he  near 
choked  me  for  tryin'  to  find  oot  what  it  was.  Ah,  nae 
doot  ye  think  that  queer.  I  'm  not  surprised.  I 
think  it 's  rideeculous  maself ." 


247 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

FROM  far  off  came  the  dulcet  and  dreamy  strains 
of  a  barrel  organ.  The  music  —  a  popular 
melody,  but  softened  and  refined  by  the  distance  — 
moved  Devina  profoundly.  It  played  upon  her  mood 
as  the  fingers  of  a  musician  might  play  upon  a  harp. 
The  sweet  and  floating  sounds  were  one  with  the  very 
spirit  of  sentiment,  impregnated  with  an  alluring  and 
indescribable  melancholy ;  the  sadness  that  defies 
analysis,  yet  lurks  forever  on  the  threshold  of  the 
beautiful.  Stealing  on  the  night,  no  merely  mechan- 
ical combination  of  notes,  but  a  river  of  mysterious 
human  emotion,  flowing  on,  on,  they  inundated  the  lis- 
tening soul  with  dreams,  with  hopes,  with  longings, 
and  with  aspirations. 

Devina  stood  entranced.  She  did  not  think  of 
these  sounds  as  music,  but  as  a  message,  the  expres- 
sion of  a  wonderful,  an  almost  incredible  happiness,  a 
gift  bestowed  unexpectedly  upon  her,  and  her 
alone. 

For  as  all  that  one  hears,  and  all  that  one  sees,  dur- 
ing moments  of  intense  emotional  perception  ceases  to 
exist  save  as  the  audible  or  visible  presentment  of  the 


TODDIE 

preoccupied  soul,  so  this  music  became  to  Devina  but 
as  the  whisper  of  her  awakening  heart. 

The  man  cared  for  her!  And  as  she  told  herself 
this,  not  once  but  many  times,  as  though  repetition 
could  bring  reality  nearer,  make  it  more  credible,  more 
of  a  piece  with  the  work-a-day  fabric  of  her  life,  she 
pressed  her  hands  to  her  bosom  to  stifle  the  gladness 
that  would  not  be  stifled. 

For  a  brief  and  beautiful  moment  her  doubts  dis- 
appeared. In  their  place  fluttered  a  host  of  new  and 
overpowering  emotions,  womanly  shrinking,  undefined 
but  intensely  realized,  deliciously  troubling,  one  with 
the  strength  and  the  weakness  of  her  sex. 

She  was  a  woman.  Too  long  had  she  disbelieved 
in  love  —  too  often  had  she  scoffed  at  the  love  affairs 
of  others.  This  was  nature's  revenge.  Yet  she  ac- 
cepted defeat  with  a  wondering  gladness. 

The  music  grew  fainter  —  fainter  —  died  away. 
As  one  torn  from  a  beautiful  dream,  Devina  awoke 
to  her  surroundings  —  the  dark  and  deserted  street, 
with  its  oasis  of  yellow  lamp-light ;  the  somber  shad- 
ows of  the  houses ;  with  here  and  there  a  lighted  win- 
dow faintly  combating  the  obscurity;  the  cold  and 
wandering  night  airs;  the  remote  and  passionless 
stars ;  the  dreary  monotone  of  the  sea  —  all  impressed 
themselves  upon  her,  a  circle  of  realities  hemming  her 
round  like  the  walls  of  a  prison  house. 

Like  a  torrent,  damned  for  a  season,  that  bursts 
249 


TODDIE 

from  all  restraint,  her  doubts  swept  back  upon  her. 
In  their  train  came  unbelief,  bitterness,  hostility ;  re- 
grets that  rankled,  memories  that  stung. 

The  height  to  which  he  had  soared  but  made  the 
fall  more  poignant.  To  anger  against  herself  was 
added  the  disappointment  of  one  who  loses  hope  at 
the  very  moment  when  happiness  seemed  within  her 
grasp. 

A  sudden  movement  recalled  Tarn  to  her  attention. 
He  was  leaning  against  the  lamp-post,  gazing  va- 
cantly at  the  pavement,  the  image  of  a  patience  born 
of  senility  and  semi-intoxication.  The  sight  inflamed 
her  to  sudden  wrath. 

"  Ye  've  been  lyin'  to  me,"  she  said. 

Nothing  but  the  lamp-post  prevented  Tarn  from 
collapsing. 

"  Ye  're  drunk,"  she  continued.  There  was  a  fierce 
and  concentrated  resentment  in  her  voice  that  cut  like 
a  lash.  So  overcome  was  Tarn  that  he  could  only 
stare.  His  bewildered  helplessness  was  as  oil  to 
flame. 

"  How  dare  ye ! "  she  vociferated.  "  Makin'  fun 
of  me?  No  doot  he  put  ye  up  to  it.  Just  what  he 
would  do.  And  you  !  —  you  're  just  the  sort  of  silly 
auld  man  that  would  lend  yerself  to  ony  indecency. 
I  can  see  you  two  laughin'  over  it.  Aye,  it 's 
funny  — "  and  she  laughed. 

Had  he  been  less  dazed  Tarn  would  have  distin- 
250 


TODDIE 

guished  in  her  hard  and  mirthless  merriment  the  dull 
minor  note  that  rings  in  every  forced  laugh. 

"  What 's  wrong  with  ye?  "  he  blurted,  for  she  had 
turned  from  him  with  suspicious  abruptness. 

She  made  no  reply. 

"  Are  ye  gone  daft  ?  What  way  of  speakin'  is 
that?  I  may  be  auld,  but  I  'm  not  silly.  And  as  for 
bein'  drunk,  could  I  stand  like  this  if  I  was  drunk? 
Funny,  says  you?  Me! — "  His  voice  rose  indig- 
nantly. "  I  never  was  funny  in  my  life.  Devina ! 
I  canna  keep  on  talkin'  to  yer  back.  Devina !  Speak 
to  me.  What  is  it?  " 

"  Leave  me  alone.'* 

"  I  will  not.  I  believe  ye  're  cryin'.  Oh,  no  use 
to  shake  yer  head  —  I  've  been  married  maself .  What 
did  I  say  — " 

"  Naething.     I  'm  goin'  home.'* 

"  Na,  na,  bide  a  wee.     Was  it  aboot  Toddie?  " 

"  No." 

"  Weel,  never  mind ;  but,  as  sure  as  death,  it 's 
God's  truth  I  was  tellin'  ye.  When  a  man  gives  up 
the  drink  —  aye,  forgets  his  manners  and  never  offers 
ye  a  drop  —  when  he  takes  to  cleanin'  hisself  oot  o' 
mind;  and  reddin'  up  his  kitchen  so  that  ye  canna 
think  where  to  sit;  aye,  and  washin'  his  verra  dog, 
poor  beastie ;  there  's  but  one  reason  —  Are  ye  lis- 
tenin'?  " 

"  No.  And  I  dinna  believe  a  word  ye  're  sayin'. 
251 


TODDIE 

You  men  are  all  alike.     You  'd  swear  black  was  white 
to  please  each  other,  so  ye  would." 

"  You  're  wrong  there,"  piped  Tarn  eagerly.  "  I 
dinna  hold  with  swearin',  and  neether  does  Toddie. 
And  why  should  I  say  black  was  white  to  please  him? 
He  's  no'  carin'." 

"  Weel,  I  dinna  want  to  hear  onything  aboot  him. 
I  'm  goin'  home."  But  in  spite  of  her  repeated  as- 
sertions, she  did  not  move. 

There  ensued  a  long  silence.  Tarn  shivered,  then 
buttoned  his  threadbare  coat  across  his  shrunken  chest, 
for  the  night  air  blew  cold.  He  was  tired,  and  longed 
for  his  bed;  but  while  this  inexplicable  woman  stood 
there,  grim  and  silent,  he  dared  not  put  his  longings 
into  execution. 

Gazing  wearily  at  her  back,  seen  as  a  dark  and  im- 
pressive shadow,  he  wondered  vaguely  why  she  hated 
Toddie  —  what  had  angered  her  —  why  she  did  n't 
go  home  —  how  long  she  would  keep  him  standing 
there  in  the  darkness  and  the  cold.  Memories  of  his 
dead  wife  and  little  tiffs  they  had  had  floated  through 
his  sleep-oppressed  brain.  He  had  always  prided 
himself  upon  his  knowledge  of  the  sex,  save  during 
these  temporary  misunderstandings.  "  Let  them 
talk,"  had  been  his  motto.  "  When  a  woman  talks," 
he  confided  philosophically  to  a  friend,  "  ye  ken  the 
worst."  It  was  with  relief  that  at  last  he  heard  her 
voice. 

252 


TODDIE 

"  How  long  —  how  long  d'  ye  pretend  he  's  been 
like  that?" 

Tarn  sighed  wearily :  "  I  'm  no  good  at  pretendin', 
ye  'd  find  me  oot  afore  I  started ;  and  what 's  the  use 
o'  tellin'  you?  You  won't  believe  me.  And  why 
d'  ye  care  at  all?  It 's  naething  to  you  if  Toddie  is 
breakin'  his  heart." 

The  dark  figure  by  his  side  made  a  sudden  move- 
ment, then  became  rigid. 

"Did  —  did  he  tell  you  that?"  Her  voice  came 
to  him  low  and  stifled.  Tarn  uttered  a  crow  of  con- 
tempt. 

"Him?  No'  likely!  He's  not  one  to  talk.  He 
did  say  once  it  was  for  her  sake.  I  was  near  forget- 
tin'  that.  Aye,  and  that  he  carried  her  somewheres 
or  ither.  But,  hoots,  Toddie 's  queer  at  times.  I 
didna  pay  much  attention  to  him;  for,  between  you 
and  me,  he  takes  a  body  in  wi'  his  cleverness,  always 
meanin'  things  he  doesna  say  —  parables  he  calls  it  — 
and  if  it  was  true  he  was  no  more  conscious  o'  lettin' 
it  oot  than  a  bairn.  He  's  that  ignorant  o'  women, 
somethin'  peetyful.  I  wish  I  knew  the  woman.  Ma 
word,  I  'd  give  her  a  talkin'  to !  Spoilin'  his  life.  I 
believe  I  'd  shake  her." 

The  old  man  had  assumed  an  expression  of  comical 
ferocity,  but  the  effect  was  momentary,  and  it  was  in 
his  customary  meek  and  despondent  voice  that  he  con- 
tinued : 

253 


TODDIE 

"  She  must  be  terrible  hard.  No  sort  of  a  woman 
at  all.  Ma  -Jean  wouldna  have  behaved  like  that. 
Big  and  black.  To  see  the  man  starvin'  hisself  — 
aye,  ye  may  weel  jump,  it 's  true,  and  if  she  's  no' 
careful  she  '11  have  his  death  to  answer  for,  so  she 
will.  I  wish  I  could  save  him  from  her,  for  she  canna 
be  worthy  o'  a  love  like  that.  Aye,  it 's  more  serious 
than  you  think,  much  more  serious.  I  tell  ye,  De- 
vina  — "  he  leant  towards  her,  sinking  his  voice  to  a 
whisper  full  of  awful  significance :  "  He  emptied  a 
whole  bottle  o'  whusky  intil  the  grate." 

To  Tarn's  satisfaction  this  information  impressed 
his  listener  as  profoundly  as  he  had  hoped.  Little 
by  little,  acting  apparently  under  compulsion,  she 
had  turned  towards  him  till  he  could  see  her  profile, 
dark  against  the  circle  of  lamp-light.  Something  in 
her  attitude  and  expression  induced  him  to  say: 

"  I  see  fine  ye  're  moved.  I  ken  you  've  a  kind 
heart,  Devina.  Me  and  you  canna  understand  a  hard 
woman  like  that.  Her  that  ought  to  be  sae  proud 
and  grateful.  Weel,  it 's  gettin'  late,  and  I  must 
away  home  to  ma  supper.  Guid  night  to  ye." 

He  seized  and  shook  her  unresponsive  hand,  and 
glad  to  make  his  escape,  hurried  off  in  the  direction 
of  the  town. 


254 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

'  T  S  it  going  to  rain  ?  "  demanded  Dale. 
A  "  Weel,  Major,"  responded  Toddie,  eying  the 
speaker  with  a  deep-seated  melancholy,  which  he 
tried  in  vain  to  disguise  under  an  impassive  exterior, 
"  weel,  Major,  ye  might  think  so,  and  again  ye  might 
not." 

"  I  believe,"  retorted  his  employer  with  some  heat, 
"  that  if  I  were  to  ask  your  name  you  would  wriggle 
out  of  it  with  something  ambiguous.  Here,  give  me 
the  driver." 

"  What  did  he  mean  by  that?  "  questioned  Toddie 
gloomily  of  Tarn,  as  they  followed  the  players. 

"  I  didna  hear.     What  was  it  he  said?  " 

"  He  called  me  am  —  ambeeguous." 

"  Did  he,  though  ?  Man,  ye  've  to  put  up  wi'  a  lot 
from  that  Major  o'  yours." 

"  Hoots,  no !  He  doesna  mean  it.  Nae  doot  it 's 
some  dirt  he  's  picked  up  in  furrin  parts.  It 's  a 
weary  world,  Tarn.  Things  goes  wrong  that  easy." 

"  That 's  what  I  tell  ye  —  though  it 's  the  first  time 
ye  've  agreed  wi'  me." 

Toddie  sighed. 

255 


TODDIE 

"  What  are  ye  sighin'  at?  Ye  're  no'  botherin* 
over  what  he  said?  " 

"  Na,  I  wasna  thinkin'  o'  him.  And  that  wasna 
sighin',  that  was  just  fetchin'  ma  breath.  Aye,  sir, 
I  'm  comin'." 

"  Will  I  reach  it  with  the  cleek  ?  "  questioned  Dale. 

"  Take  yer  brassie,  sir,  and  go  for  it.  What  are 
we  givin'  him?  " 

"  Four  strokes." 

"  Four  strokes !  We  '11  beat  him  easy.  Here  ye 
are.  Keep  yer  head  doon.  That 's  it.  A  bonnie 
shot  That  'ull  dae  fine." 

They  reached  the  green.  Toddie,  flag  in  hand, 
stood  at  attention. 

"  You  to  play,  sir,"  he  said  encouragingly  to  his 
employer. 

"  That 's  one  up,"  he  remarked  to  Tarn,  as  he  re- 
placed the  flag.  "  And  you  can  take  it  from  me  that 
it  'ull  no'  be  the  last." 

"  Maybe,"  assented  Tarn  indifferently.  "  It 's  aw- 
ful cold  the  day,  ma  rheumatics  is  something  cruel. 
What  a  wind !  —  it 's  like  snaw." 

Toddie  turned  a  thoughtful  eye  upon  the  low  drift- 
ing clouds. 

"  I  canna  think  what  brings  them  oot  in  this 
weather,"  continued  Tam.  "  No'  but  what  it 's  good 
for  us ;  but  if  I  was  rich  I  'd  sit  by  the  fire  all  day  — 
would  na  you  ?  " 

256 


TODDIE 

"  Na,  not  me.  I  'd  buy  a  watch  and  chain  for  — 
for  somebody  I  ken  aboot,  and  a  collar  for  Bob,  and 
maybe  a  coat  for  yerself." 

"  Would  ye  now?  That's  like  you,  Toddie.  But 
it 's  a  pair  o'  boots  I  'm  needin'." 

"  That 's  a  fact,"  agreed  his  friend,  inspecting 
Tarn's  footgear  critically.  "  Ye  might  pick  up  a  bet- 
ter pair  nor  that  on  the  sands." 

At  this  point  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by 
Tarn's  employer  demanding  if  his  caddie  had  seen  his 
ball. 

"  Aye,  sir,  Oh,  aye,"  responded  Tarn  nervously. 
The  affirmative  was  forced  from  him  by  long  habit, 
but  for  all  that  he  gazed  blankly  around,  inspecting 
each  tuft  of  grass  with  a  vague  and  hopeless  inde- 
cision. 

"  Here  y'  are !  "  cried  Toddie. 

The  game  proceeded. 

"  Ye  must  keep  a  better  eye  on  it  than  that,  Tarn," 
remonstrated  his  friend  good  naturedly. 

"  Aye,  but  between  you  and  me  ma  sight  is  no' 
what  it  was.  It  was  ma  wife  did  it.  The  woman 
had  a  stroke,  ye  ken,  and  for  six  months  I  sat  up  wi* 
her  all  night." 

"  And  carried  all  day  ?  " 

"  Aye,  what  else  was  there  to  do  ?  " 

Toddie  looked  at  the  bent  and  shuffling  figure  with 
sympathy. 

17  257 


TODDIE 

"  I  've  somethin'  to  tell  ye,'*  whispered  Tarn  mys- 
teriously, "  but  we  've  nae  time  the  now  —  maybe  — 
Ah,  it 's  what  I  feared  —  here  's  the  rain  1 " 

Over  the  vast  and  undulating  stretch  of  the  links 
swept  a  veil  of  drifting  vapor.  It  came  from  the  sea 
—  the  Northern  sea,  mother  of  storms,  and  wind,  and 
rain ;  breeder  of  insensate  strife  and  appalling  monot- 
ony. In  a  few  moments  the  distant  hills  and  the 
nearer  coast  were  blotted  from  sight.  No  spot  on 
earth  can  be  more  abandoned  to  desolation,  more  pro- 
ductive of  melancholy,  than  this  spit  of  land  when 
the  storm-clouds  muster.  At  such  seasons  all  is  en- 
veloped in  a  winding  sheet  of  gloom,  and  the  insidious 
approach  of  the  mists  is  only  to  be  equaled  in  eerie- 
ness  with  the  plaint  of  the  unseen  waves  moaning  to 
the  sands. 

The  rain  thickened.  At  first  but  a  few  isolated 
drops,  it  swiftly  increased  in  volume  until  it  concealed 
even  the  most  adjacent  landmarks.  It  beat  pitilessly 
upon  the  golfers,  rendering  play,  if  not  impossible,  at 
least  a  labor  of  much  difficulty. 

The  Major  and  his  opponent,  somewhat  protected 
by  their  large  golfing  umbrellas,  were  less  to  be  com- 
miserated than  were  Toddie  and  Tarn.  The  rain 
seemed  to  take  a  fiendish  pleasure  in  blinding  the  cad- 
dies' eyes,  in  trickling  in  cold  streams  between  their 
mufflers  and  their  ill-fitting  jackets,  in  penetrating  be- 
tween the  cracks  in  their  down-trodden  boots. 

258 


TODDIE 

After  a  short  consultation  the  game  was  aban- 
doned. 

"  Let 's  get  to  shelter,"  suggested  Toddie  to  Tarn, 
as  their  masters  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the 
town.  "  It 's  no'  that  far,  and  maybe  this  winna 
last." 

Tarn  acquiesced,  as  indeed  he  would  have  agreed  to 
any  suggestion  that  emanated  from  Toddie.  The 
erection,  designated  the  shelter,  stood  on  an  eminence 
surrounded  by  gorse.  Built  in  the  form  of  a  capital 
T,  it  offered  protection  in  all  weathers. 

"  Toddie,"  said  Tarn,  when  the  two  friends  had 
seated  themselves,  "  I  've  been  thinkin'." 

"  Have  ye  now  ?  What 's  the  use  o'  thinkin'  ?  I 
does  a  lot  o'  it,  but  it  doesna  help  me.  Man,  but 
ye  're  wet,  and  I  'm  no'  much  better  maself .  What  a 
water ! "  and  he  slapped  his  cap  with  much  energy 
against  the  wooden  wall. 

"  Take  off  yer  coat,  and  let  me  give  it  a  shake," 
he  commanded,  looking  with  kindly  solicitude  upon 
the  old  man,  who  sat,  and  dripped,  and  shivered,  the 
very  picture  of  helpless  though  unconscious  discom- 
fort. 

Tarn  meekly  divested  himself  of  the  garment. 
When  it  had  been  restored  to  him,  he  repeated  with 
quavering  earnestness :  "  I  've  been  thinkin'." 

«  Weel,  go  on." 

"  Ye  ought  to  give  her  up." 
259 


TODDIE 

Toddie  jumped.  "  Give  who  up?  "  he  demanded, 
fixing  Tarn  at  the  same  time  with  threatening  eyes. 

"  Her.  The  woman  ye  told  me  aboot.  Her  that 's 
botherin'  ye." 

Toddie  stared  abruptly  outwards  at  the  falling 
rain;  something  in  his  wet  and  serious  countenance 
caused  Tarn  to  hold  his  breath. 

"Why  d'ye  say  that?"  said  Toddie  at  length, 
speaking  thickly. 

"  For  yer  ain  sake,"  cried  Tarn  with  eager- 
ness. "  I  see  you  're  no'  happy.  You  're  no'  like  the 
same  man,  I  canna  even  smell  the  drink  on  ye." 

Toddie  sighed  again. 

"  Ah,  never  tell  me,"  burst  out  Tarn,  confirmed  in 
his  gloomy  prognostications.  "  You  're  no'  happy, 
I  see  it  fine.  D'  ye  think  I  'm  no'  carin'  ?  Weel, 
ye  're  wrong.  Me  and  you  has  carried  thegither  for 
years,  and  never  an  ill  word.  Is  that  naethin'?  I 
couldna  say  as  much  of  ony  ither  man,  so  that 's 
tellin'  ye ! " 

He  broke  off  with  a  rare  gesture  and  blew  his  nose 
with  tremulous  energy  upon  a  ragged  wisp  of  hand- 
kerchief. 

"  And  what  for  should  I  give  her  up  ?  "  demanded 
Toddie  with  measured  hostility. 

"  She  's  no'  worthy  o'  ye. —  Hoots,  ye  wouldna  hit 
me  ?  I  'm  no'  af eared  o'  ye,  Toddie.  I  ken  ye  bet- 
ter than  ye  ken  yerself." 

260 


TODDIE 

So  confident  and  affectionate  was  Tarn's  smile  that 
Toddie,  disarmed,  could  only  glare  at  him  with  undi- 
minished  antagonism. 

"  See  here,  Mister  Tammas  Macintyre,"  he  re- 
marked with  awful  politeness,  "  if  onybody  else  had 
said  that  I  'd  have  knocked  it  doon  their  throat,  so  I 
would.  Worthy  o'  me !  Her  no'  worthy  of  me!  I 
wonder  ye  dinna  fall  doon  dead  on  the  spot." 

But  Tarn  with  gentle  incredulity  shook  his  head. 

"  I  ken  what  I  'm  sayin',"  he  insisted.  "  I  've  been 
married  maself .  I  ken  what  women  are  —  good  ones, 
I  mean.  Ma  Jean  was  one.  Nae  doot  she  's  singin' 
wi'  the  angels  at  this  verra  moment,  she  had  a  bonnie 
ear  for  a  tune.  I  mind  once  —  Hoots,  man,  dinna 
fluster  me,  I  'm  comin'  to  it.  Weel,  it 's  this  —  if 
you  was  McPhee,  or  Herd,  or  Murdoch,  if  you  was 
just  takin'  yer  fun  wi'  her,  I  wouldna  feel  anxious. 
But  you  're  no'  that  sort.  You  're  like  me,  and  — 
and  I  honor  ye  for  it !  " 

Toddie  eyed  him  in  amazement. 

"  It 's  honest  marriage  you  're  thinkin'  of,"  pro- 
nounced Tarn  with  conviction. 

Toddie's  amazement  redoubled. 

"  Aye,"  went  on  the  old  man  smilingly.  "  Ye  see, 
I  can  read  ye  better  nor  a  book.  Weel,  I  believe  it 
would  suit  ye.  I  dinna  hold  wi'  a  man  livin'  alone. 
But  ye  '11  have  to  be  careful,  for  now  's  the  time. 
Oh,  Toddie,  be  canny  for  ony  sake!  Think  o'  yer 

261 


TODDIE 

bairns.  Is  yon  woman  a  good  mither  to  give  the  puir 
wee  things?  I  misdoot  it  sairly." 

"  But  — "  stammered  Toddie,  whom  this  pros- 
pective paternity  bewildered,  "  But  —  ye  dinna  even 
ken  her ! " 

"  Na,  I  dinna  need  to  ken  her.  I  see  fine  what  she 
is.  Stop  a  minute,  let  me  tell  ye :  —  there  's  but  two 
sorts  o'  women  in  this  world,  them  that  makes  a  man 
happy,  and  them  that  doesna." 

"Weel?" 

"  Weel,  is  she  makin'  you  happy  ?  Answer  me 
that?  " 

Fain  would  Toddie  have  retorted  with  an  affirma- 
tive, but  truth  sealed  his  lips. 

"  Ah,"  cried  Tarn  triumphantly,  "  you  're  moved. 
I  feel  for  ye.  It 's  God's  truth  I  'm  speakin'.  If  a 
man  's  no'  happy  wi'  a  woman  before  marriage,  never 
think  he  '11  be  after." 

"  But  —  whiles  it 's  the  man's  fault." 

Tarn  waved  his  hand.  "  Never  tell  me,"  he  said  in- 
dignantly. *'  You!  decent  spoken  even  in  yer  drink ! 
As  honest  a  lad  as  ye  '11  find  in  St.  Andrews.  '  The 
man's  fault ! '  Hear  to  him !  Ah,  that 's  like  you, 
Toddie,  always  blamin'  yerself .  Na,  na,  it 's  what  I 
said  to  ye  before,  she  's  no  — " 

"  I  '11  not  listen,"  shouted  Toddie,  jumping  to  his 
feet  and  upsetting  the  golf-bag,  which  fell  with  a 
clatter.  "  It 's  scandalous,  so  it  is.  What  do  you 

262 


TODDIE 

know  ?  Oh,  ye  've  been  married,  I  grant  ye  that,  but 
is  that  ony  excuse  for  takin'  away  a  good  woman's 
character?  Think  shame  o'  yerself!  Ye 're  worse 
nor  the  rain.  Guid  day  — " 

"  Stop,  Toddie,  stop  !     I  didna  mean  — " 

"  Weel,  ye  should  ha'  meant.  An  auld  man  like 
you,  wi'  one  foot  in  the  grave  and  the  ither  on  the 
links.  What  a  senseless  poseetion.  I  'm  surprised 
at  ye." 

Tarn  quailed  before  his  frown. 

"  An'  mair  nor  that,"  denounced  Toddie,  warming ; 
"  yours  is  the  man's  point  o'  view  —  selfish.  We  men 
has  a  lot  to  answer  for ;  have  we  — r 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  prolonged  and  painful  fit 
of  coughing.  So  feeble  and  suffering  did  the  old 
man  appear  that  Toddie's  anger  fled.  With  rough 
kindness  and  according  to  custom,  he  thumped  his 
adversary  on  the  back. 

"  Thank  ye  —  thank  ye,"  gasped  Tarn,  to  whom 
the  cure  was  more  to  be  dreaded  than  the  complaint, 
but  who  would  not  for  the  world  have  risked  hurting 
his  friend's  feelings  by  the  confession.  "  That  'ull 
do,  Toddie,  I  'm  better  now.  But  ye  're  no'  fair  to 
me." 

Toddie  muttered  grimly  that  he  was  glad  to  hear  it. 

"  Aye,"  wheezed  Tarn,  still  out  of  breath,  "  it 
wasna  the  man's  point  o'  view  only,  for  I  had  a  talk 
aboot  ye  wi'  a  woman  the  ither  night." 

263 


TODDIE 

Toddle's  face  crimsoned. 

"  Hoots !  Ye  needna  mind.  I  've  kenned  the  las- 
sie all  her  life.  She  's  a  steady,  God-fearin'  young 
woman,  so  she  is.  I  'd  take  her  opeenion  against  ony- 
body's." 

"  What 's  her  name  ?  "  questioned  Toddie,  partially 
mollified. 

"  Devina  Greig. 

"  Aye,"  continued  Tam,  unheeding.  "  I  telt  her 
all  aboot  ye,  how  ye  were  washin'  yerself  and  Bob,  and 
how  ye  emptied  all  that  good  whusky  into  the  grate." 

There  ensued  a  long  silence;  then  Toddie's  voice, 
hopelessly  beyond  control,  was  heard  to  whisper: 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"  Say !  "  Tam  laughed  in  appreciative  reminis- 
cence. "  Ye  ken  what  women  are  —  she  couldna  find 
enough  to  say.  She  said  it  was  noble  of  ye." 

"She  —  said  —  that  1" 

"  Aye,  did  she.  She  was  fair  ashamed  o'  the  ither 
woman.  Man,  I  tell  ye  she  was  cryin'  oot  o'  peety 
and  admiration  for  ye.  *  Tam,'  says  she,  *  I  wonder 
if  he  can  forgive  her?  '  Ah,  Toddie,  her  heart 's  in 
the  right  place.  Man,  if  ye  could  only  ha'  cared  for 
her.  Weel  —  what  are  ye  smilin'  at  ?  " 


264- 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A  CH-H,  nae  mair  manners  nor  a  cat!  Ye 
^~V  wouldna  catch  me  yawnin'  in  your  face  if  you 
was  talkin'  aboot  her.  Man,  I  could  listen  by  the 
hour,  so  I  could.  Ye  've  no  taste,  Bob.  If  it  was  a 
question  o'  sheep  ye  'd  be  fair  aff  yer  head,  an'  is 
she  no'  worth  a  whole  flock?  Ach-h,  silly  beast!  " 

Nothing  abashed,  Bob  watched  his  master  as  that 
individual  proceeded  to  dress.  A  restrained  excite- 
ment was  observable  in  the  dog's  behavior,  for  was  it 
not  the  Sabbath,  a  day  to  which  he  had  looked  for- 
ward with  an  eagerness  of  anticipation  not  to  be  sur- 
passed in  the  heart  of  the  most  zealous  church-goer. 
Contrary  to  his  custom  on  other  and  less  joyous  up- 
risings, he  betrayed  an  affectionate  and  personal  in- 
terest in  the  drawing  on  of  socks,  in  the  fastening  of 
buttons,  for  did  not  each  step  bring  him  nearer  the 
breakfast  —  the  walk  —  in  a  word,  the  whole  vista 
of  innocent  pleasures  to  be  enjoyed  in  the  exclusive 
and  day-long  society  of  Toddie? 

Despite  the  grayness  of  the  morning,  the  sun  was 
shining  brightly  for  both  master  and  dog  —  no  mere 
celestial  luminary,  but  an  orb  independent  of  solar 

265 


TODDIE 

systems,  the  sun  of  happiness.  Never  in  Bob's  recol- 
lection had  Toddie  been  gayer,  no,  not  even  when  un- 
der the  exhilarating  influence  of  liquor.  He  smiled 
—  he  joked  —  he  even  essayed  to  sing !  His  manipu- 
lation of  the  loaf  at  breakfast  betrayed  a  soul  superior 
to  economy.  His  treatment  of  the  fire  would  have 
merited  the  warm  approval  of  Turpie  the  coal  mer- 
chant. The  day  had  a  most  promising  beginning. 

After  breakfast,  however,  there  came  a  change. 
Toddie  sank  unaccountably  into  a  brown  study.  In 
vain  Bob  threw  out  hints.  In  vain  the  grandfather's 
clock  sought  to  remind  its  owner  solemnly  that  the 
hour  for  exercise  had  arrived.  Pipe  in  mouth  the  lit- 
tle caddie  frowned  at  the  fire. 

"  How  can  I  manage  it?  "  he  exclaimed  at  length, 
spitting  thoughtfully  into  the  grate.  "  Keep  still, 
Bob,  what  are  ye  bother'n'  aboot  ?  Ye  see,  it 's  like 
this  —  I  darena  go  to  her  house  withoot  being  in- 
vited. It  wouldna  do.  I  'm  af  eared  it  wouldna  be 
company  manners.  She  wouldna  like  it.  I  confess 
to  ye,  I  'm  nervous.  I  wish  it  was  over.  I  feel  near 
backin'  oot  o'  it.  It 's  the  first  glint  o'  her  eyes  I  'm 
fearin'.  Ye  ken  the  way  she  looks  at  ye,  Bob,  like  as 
if  ye  'd  been  stealin'  the  milk.  And  yet  —  did  she  no' 
tell  Tarn  I  was  to  forgive  her?  Ma  God,  me  forgive 
her!  Me  —  no'  fit  to  breathe  the  same  air !  What  a 
woman !  What  a  woman !  " 

His  face  glowed  with  enthusiasm.  Bob,  divided 
266 


TODDIE 

between  sympathy  and  impatience,  growling  tenderly 
laid  a  tentative  paw  upon  his  knee. 

"  Aye,"  continued  Toddie  softly,  as  much  to  him- 
self as  to  the  dog,  "  I  've  no  need  to  fear.  She  must 
be  awful  fond  o'  me,  or  she  wouldna  have  said  that. 
And  then  —  cryin' !  Oh,  it's  amazin'!'  I  can 
hardly  believe  it.  It 's  too  good  to  be  true ;  so  it  is. 
But  how  to  get  at  her?  What  would  ye  advise,  eh?  " 

Bob,  finding  himself  pointedly  appealed  to,  looked 
at  the  door. 

"  That 's  it !  "  cried  his  master  in  a  burst  of  relief 
and  admiration.  "  Ye  're  a  wonder  f  Ye  just  think 
for  the  pair  o'  us.  I  believe  ye  're  as  keen  on  it  as 
I  am  maself .  By  gosh,  I  '11  take  yer  advice !  I  '11  go 
to  her  this  verra  minute." 

He  leapt  to  his  feet.  At  that  moment  the  pro- 
found quiet  of  the  Sabbath  morning  was  broken  by 
the  tolling  of  church  bells.  Toddie  listened  as  the 
chimes  rang  out,  died  away,  and  rang  out  once  more, 
his  face  fixed,  his  mind  working. 

"  I  have  it,"  he  cried,  slapping  his  leg.  "  I  '11  go 
to  the  Kirk ;  she  's  bound  to  be  there." 

With  feverish  haste  he  donned  his  best  coat,  the 
Major's  boots,  an  india-rubber  collar,  a  black  tie, 
worn  but  once  before  and  at  a  funeral,  and  a  hard 
black  hat,  a  relic  of  his  youth  —  then  inspected  him- 
self anxiously  in  the  small,  cracked  mirror. 

"  This  will  never  do ! "  he  ejaculated,  addressing 
267 


TODDIE 

his  likeness  with  sudden  consternation.  "  Ye  're  just 
a  porkipine  wi'  that  chin  o'  yours.  I  doubt  she  '11 
never  stand  that !  —  Hair  's  an  awful  responsibility," 
he  confided  to  Bob  as  he  whetted  a  razor  used  indis- 
criminately to  open  tins  and  cut  its  owner's  face  — 
"  it 's  aye  scheemin'  to  get  the  better  o'  ye,  so  it  is." 

The  operation  was  painfully  and  only  partially  suc- 
cessful, but  the  knowledge  that  it  was  suffering  for 
Devina's  sake  was  as  balm  to  the  smarting  face;  and 
it  was  with  a  more  hopeful  heart  that,  flinging  the 
instrument  of  torture  aside,  he  made  precipitately  for 
the  door.  But  he  had  counted  without  his  four- 
footed  companion,  for  Bob,  fully  convinced  that  the 
hour  for  emancipation  had  arrived,  gave  vent  to  loud 
barks  of  delight.  Toddie  stopped  short  —  his  face 
fell. 

"  Bob,  ma  mannie,"  he  faltered,  holding  out  a  hand, 
"  I  see  what  ye  're  after.  Ma  word,  I  'm  no  better 
nor  a  beast  I  I  was  thinkin'  o'  ma  ain  pleesure.  Na, 
go  back,  puir  wee  man.  I  canna  take  ye,  Bob.  Will 
ye  forgive  me,  eh?  " 

With  that  touching  and  divine  quality  so  akin  to 
the  angelic  and  so  far  transcending  the  human  —  Bob 
gave  his  master  absolution  for  all  offenses,  past,  pres- 
ent, and  to  come.  But  the  memory  of  the  mournful 
eyes  and  the  drooping  tail  followed  Toddie  like  a 
mute  reproach  out  of  the  little  kitchen  into  the  gray 
of  the  sunless  streets. 

268 


THE  thoroughfares  which  but  five  minutes  before 
had  been  as  lifeless  and  depressing  as  a  tomb, 
began  to  show  faint  signs  of  returning  animation. 
Nothing  very  lively  or  exhilarating,  it  is  true ;  a  mere 
dribble  of  sable-clad  figures  all  proceeding  in  one  di- 
rection, all  visibly  suffering  from  the  effects  of  the 
Scottish  Sabbath.  The  clatter  of  feet  upon  the  cob- 
ble-stones alone  dared  to  desecrate  the  silence,  for 
voices  were  tuned  to  a  hushed  and  sacrificial  key. 
Even  the  children,  under  the  stern  eyes  of  their  elders, 
marched  as  to  a  funeral,  consoled  in  the  hour  of  un- 
natural repression  by  the  proud  consciousness  of 
gloves  and  the  friction  of  unfamiliar  stockings. 

To  the  heart  of  a  stranger  this  scene,  so  gloomy, 
so  lacking  in  all  the  glad  and  spontaneous  qualities 
that  make  for  true  worship,  would  have  struck  a  chill ; 
but  to  the  born  Scot  it  brought  only  a  satisfactory 
sense  of  appropriateness.  The  shuttered  shops,  the 
gray  streets,  the  colorless  sky,  the  dark  clothing  and 
solemn  countenances,  all  were  of  a  piece,  all  har- 
monized equally  with  each  other  and  with  the  slow, 
monotonous  and  melancholy  tolling  of  the  bells. 

269 


TODDIE 

Toddie  stumped  along  the  pavement.  Though  in 
the  procession,  he  had  the  embarrassing  sensation  of 
not  being  of  it.  He  felt  constrained  and  awkward  in 
his  unusual  finery.  He  missed  the  freedom  of  the 
links,  even  the  feel  of  the  golf -bag  on  his  shoulder. 
Above  all,  he  missed  Bob. 

For  more  years  than  he  cared  to  remember  Toddie 
had  avoided  the  Kirk,  influenced  by  no  feelings  of 
impiety,  but  swayed  by  the  Nature-spirit  that  wor- 
ships not  in  houses  but  in  the  vast  temple  of  the  open 
air. 

Did  one  of  his  colleagues  take  him  to  task,  Toddie 
would  growl :  "  Mind  yer  ain  business.  I  'm  no 
heathen.  The  Lorrd  kens  me  fine." 

With  the  Reverend  Mr.  McColl  Toddie  flattered 
himself  that  he  was  on  terms  of  mutual  approbation. 
Truth  to  tell,  the  "  Meenister  "  was,  with  the  solitary 
exception  of  the  Major,  the  one  soul  in  St.  Andrews 
of  whom  Toddie  stood  in  wholesome  awe.  For  this 
no  sense  of  social  inferiority  must  be  held  responsible, 
but  a  lively,  if  fearful,  appreciation  of  the  clergy- 
man's innate  and  unaffected  piety.  Yet,  outwardly, 
there  appeared  nothing  to  inspire  alarm  in  the  tall, 
emaciated  figure  with  its  slight  stoop,  or  in  the  pale 
face  with  its  ascetic  mouth  and  beautiful  smile.  A 
feeling  of  moral  delinquency  afflicted  Toddie  during 
their  rare  interviews,  aggravated  by  an  extreme  re- 
luctance to  disappoint  the  one  being  who  still  enter- 

270 


TODDIE 

tained  unaccountable  hopes  concerning  his  salva- 
tion. 

"  I  did  n't  see  you  in  church  last  Sunday,  Toddie," 
the  clergyman  had  said,  stopping  our  hero  in  the 
street  upon  one  occasion,  and  speaking  as  if  the 
omission  were  a  cause  of  heartfelt  regret  to  both. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  I  always  look  for  you." 

"  Do  ye,  sir?  " 

"  Always.     I  '11  see  you  there  one  of  these  days." 

Much  embarrassed,  Toddie  fumbled  with  his  cap 
which  he  had  forgotten  to  replace. 

"How's  my  friend  Bob?" 

"  Fine,  Meenister,  fine."  This  with  instantaneous 
relief  and  the  broadest  of  smiles. 

"  That 's  right.  Tell  him  that  he  must  spare  you 
to  me  occasionally.  Good-by,  Toddie." 

"  Good-by  to  you,  sir."  Then,  apostrophizing 
the  departing  figure :  *'  Dang  it,  you  're  a  guid  man  ! 
If  all  the  worrld  was  like  you  it  would  be  a  bonnie 
place.  You  're  right.  I  '11  have  to  come  and  hear 
ye  one  o'  these  days.  I  '11  tell  Bob.  But  the  beastie  's 
awful  exactin' ;  I  doot  if  he  '11  let  me." 

It  was  indeed  no  slight  upheaval  of  ancient  habit 
that  induced  Toddie  to  set  Bob  at  defiance,  to  forego 
the  Sabbath  outing,  to  brave  the  criticism  of  the 
neighbors  and  to  darken  the  doors  of  a  church.  Yet 
his  imperative  longing  to  see  Devina  at  once,  pre- 
271 


TODDIE 

vailed  over  all.  The  impulse  was  irresistible.  Tod- 
die  marveled.  His  mind  was  divided  between  won- 
der, timidity,  self -consciousness,  and  a  fearful  joy. 
As  he  walked,  he  looked  stolidly  ahead,  feigning  an 
assurance  he  was  far  from  feeling.  To  see  his 
weather-beaten  face  composed  into  an  awful  and  Sev- 
enth Day  gloom,  his  coat  buttoned  tightly  across  his 
chest,  as  though  fearful  of  betraying  the  poverty 
that  lurked  beneath,  his  hat  jammed  sternly  upon  his 
head,  you  would  have  sworn  that  this  was  for  him  no 
violation  of  custom,  but  a  regular  weekly  occurrence. 
It  was  a  most  creditable  imitation;  but,  alas,  it  de- 
ceived no  one. 

"  Where  is  he  goin'  ?  "  whispered  Mrs.  Aytoun, 
the  fishmonger's  wife,  to  her  husband.  "  Guid 
sakes !  dinna  tell  me  he  's  comin'  to  the  Kirk !  " 

Aytoun,  forgetful  for  the  moment  of  the  dignity 
befitting  a  silk  hat,  uttered  an  equally  astonished 
ejaculation. 

"  I  believe  ye,  mither !  What 's  come  to  him  ?  By 
gosh,  he  must  ha'  found  releegion  I " 

Mrs.  Aytoun  sniffed  skeptically. 

"  Them  that  doesna  like  women  will  never  see  the 
Kingdom  o'  God.  What  like  was  you  before  I  mar- 
ried ye,  eh?  No  more  use  than  a  rotten  fish.  Mary, 
keep  yer  eyes  straight  —  that 's  no  way  to  behave  on 
the  Sabbath ! " 

Within  the  porch  of  the  sacred  edifice  stood  Mc- 
272 


TODDIE 

Phee,  mounting  guard  over  the  plate  into  which  the 
faithful  deposited  their  offerings.  Dressed  entirely 
in  rusty  black,  with  his  long  upper  lip  recently  shaved, 
and  an  expression  of  sanctimonious  melancholy,  he 
might  have  posed  as  a  mute  at  a  funeral. 

When  he  caught  sight  of  Toddie,  a  look  of  mingled 
amazement  and  curiosity  overspread  his  face,  but  was 
banished  on  the  instant  as  unbefitting  the  dignity  of  an 
elder.  Toddie  met  his  lack-luster  eyes,  in  which  there 
now  shone  not  the  faintest  gleam  of  recognition,  with 
a  defiant  jerk  of  the  head.  He  would  hear  about  it 
in  the  golf-shelter  next  day  but  no  need  to  anticipate 
trouble. 

"  Take  this,"  he  said  loftily. 

And  with  the  air  of  one  who  giveth  of  his  abun- 
dance he  produced  a  penny. 

At  the  inner  door,  however,  he  paused  irresolute; 
then,  observing  an  empty  pew  conveniently  near  to 
the  exit,  he  quietly  took  a  seat. 

The  place,  and  more  especially  the  mental  atmos- 
phere which  it  conjured  up,  and  which  was,  as  it 
were,  the  imperishable  soul  of  the  building,  impressed 
Toddie  profoundly.  It  came  upon  him  unexpectedly, 
awakening  emotions  that  had  slumbered  for  years. 
Yet  the  interior  owed  nothing  to  adornment.  Its 
whitewashed  walls,  its  unpainted  windows,  its  un- 
lovely ceiling,  its  plain,  box-shaped  pulpit  and  pews, 
its  air  of  simplicity,  almost  of  austerity,  drew  their, 
is 


TODDIE 

power  from  some  indwelling  force  that,  scorning  all 
lust  of  the  senses,  had  its  roots  deep  within  the  soul. 
Freed  from  the  thrall  of  external  imagery,  the  im- 
agination had  scope  to  conceive,  and  painted  upon 
this  somber  background,  as  upon  a  canvas,  the  ter- 
rors of  hell  and  the  glories  of  paradise.  It  swept 
Toddie  back  irresistibly  to  the  days  of  his  boyhood, 
when  he  too — not  the  least  ardent  among  the  many 
worshipers,  had  exulted,  and  loved,  and  feared.  In- 
expressibly softened  and  subdued  he  gazed  around 
him  with  reverence. 

Devina  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  In  vain  Toddie's 
eyes  roamed  over  the  occupants  of  the  adjacent 
seats,  searched  the  aisles,  penetrated  to  the  pews 
beneath  the  gallery.  Every  one  else  became  to  him 
unimportant.  It  was  the  sight  of  the  one  face  that 
he  hungered  for,  and  yet  feared.  But  it  was  not 
there,  and  as  he  was  reluctantly  forced  to  this  con- 
clusion, the  feeling  of  reverence  abated,  and  his  mind 
was  racked  with  anxiety. 

The  minister  ascended  the  pulpit,  gave  out  the 
first  psalm,  and  the  congregation  stood  up  to  sing. 
Toddie  mechanically  followed  their  example.  His 
neighbor  —  a  young  woman  —  observing  that  he 
lacked  a  hymn  book,  invited  him  with  a  gesture  to 
share  hers.  He  laid  hold  of  the  extreme  edge  of  it, 
absent  mindedly,  his  eyes  on  the  alert,  his  ears  listen- 
ing for  the  sound  of  a  step. 

274 


TODDIE 

At  the  beginning  of  the  second  verse  a  tall,  dark 
figure,  entering  hurriedly,  glided  up  the  aisle  and 
seated  itself  within  a  few  yards  of  his  pew.  Tod- 
die's  heart  leapt.  It  was  she. 

From  that  moment  he  sat  or  stood  entirely  ob- 
livious of  the  service.  Would  she  look  at  him? 
Nothing  else  mattered. 

Devina  was  dressed  in  her  Sunday  best.  Her  hat 
boasted  of  a  feather.  Beneath  its  brim  her  luxuriant 
hair  could  be  seen  coiled  into  a  dark  yet  shining  mass. 
Her  black  jacket,  setting  off  the  full  curves  of  her 
figure,  was  trimmed  with  fur  of  so  delusive  a  hue  that 
the  rabbits  would  have  been  at  a  loss  to  recognize 
their  stolen  property.  Her  hands  were  concealed 
from  sight  by  thread  gloves  at  one  and  sixpence  a 
pair. 

This  elegance  of  attire,  enhancing  as  it  did  the 
somber  beauty  of  her  face,  caused  Toddie's  heart  to 
expand  with  feelings  of  admiration  so  intense  as  to 
verge  upon  awe.  That  he  should  dare  to  love  so 
superior  a  1  eing  rilled  him  with  a  modest  amazement. 
He  all  but  grew  indignant  with  himself  for  his  pre- 
sumption. His  own  clothing,  which  up  to  that  mo- 
ment had  appeared  not  unworthy  of  respect,  now 
filled  him  with  nothing  but  dissatisfaction.  Why  had 
he  not  black  trousers,  like  McPhee  —  a  silk  hat,  like 
Aytoun?  He  became  not  only  anxious  but  depressed, 
for  Devina  seemed  to  have  been  metamorphosed  into 

275 


TODDIE 

a  lady,  and  to  have  been  lifted  as  far  above  his  level 
by  material  circumstances,  as  he  knew  her  to  be  by 
beauty  of  character.  Even  the  confidences  of  Tarn, 
which  had  hitherto  buoyed  him  up,  now  ceased  to 
inspire  him  with  assurance.  They  seemed  impossible. 
From  where  he  stood  he  could  see  her  profile.  For 
him  it  lit  up  the  church.  All  his  life  his  feelings 
had  lain  dormant.  They  awoke  now.  His  blood 
sang.  His  heart  palpitated.  Drops  of  perspiration 
gathered  on  his  forehead.  With  open  mouth  he 
gazed,  and  gazed,  and  gazed  again. 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down,"  whispered  his  neighbor,  and 
Toddie  suddenly  aroused  from  his  dream,  awoke  to 
the  fact  that  the  congregation  were  at  prayer. 

Meanwhile  Devina  was  blissfully  unconscious  of 
the  vicinity  of  her  lover.  Taught  from  her  youth  up 
to  look  seriously  impressed  in  church,  she  preserved 
a  composed  and  devout  demeanor;  and  if  her  eyes 
indulged,  as  at  times  they  did,  in  a  stealthy  and 
critical  inspection  of  the  hats  in  front  of  her,  she 
made  haste  to  recall  them  to  their  duty.  Indeed, 
deeply  religious  as  she  was  by  nature,  the  service  was 
to  her  a  sincere  and  abiding  pleasure.  Whether  sing- 
ing the  psalms  in  her  deep,  untrained,  yet  pleasantly 
tuneful  voice,  or  following  the  long-winded  prayers 
with  closed  eyes  and  bowed  head,  or  listening  rever- 
ently to  the  reading  of  the  Scriptures,  Devina  threw 
her  whole  heart  into  her  devotions, 

276 


TODDIE 

It  was  not  until  the  text  for  the  sermon  had  been 
given  out,  and  Mr.  McColl  had  begun  to  expound 
justification  by  faith,  that,  leaning  back  in  her  seat, 
she  permitted  herself  to  take  note  of  the  congregation. 
At  first  a  bonnet  on  her  immediate  left  monopolized 
her  attention;  then  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  pew  in 
which  Toddie  was  seated  crept  the  calm  and  observant 
gaze.  Toddie  rigid,  spell-bound,  ceased  to  breathe. 
It  seemed  a  century  —  then,  all  at  once,  their  eyes 
encountered.  It  was  but  for  the  fraction  of  a  sec- 
ond, but  his  fascinated  face  had  done  its  work.  Hot 
waves  of  color  inundated  Devina's  cheeks,  her  brow, 
even  her  neck;  and  under  the  modest  jacket  her 
bosom  rose  and  fell. 

"  She 's  seen  me  1 "  thought  Toddie,  trembling. 
"  Ma  God,  she  's  seen  me  1 " 

Thereafter,  though  never  another  look  was  be- 
stowed upon  him,  he  sat  in  a  trance,  the  victim  of 
unreasoning  delight.  Her  agitation  had  not  escaped 
him.  It  restored  hope  and  courage.  The  atmos- 
phere, redolent  of  peppermints  and  musty  with  the 
smell  of  rarely-used  clothing,  seemed  to  him  beautiful 
—  the  naked  church,  a  shrine  —  the  monotonous 
voice  of  the  preacher,  music  falling  from  the  spheres. 

The  service  over,  he  waited  for  her  in  the  street. 
At  her  approach  he  found  no  word  to  say. 

"  Weel,"  she  said,  and  stopped  before  him. 

"  Weel,  Miss  Greig,"  he  muttered  huskily. 
277 


TODDIE 

The  pleading  in  his  eyes  moved  her,  but  disguising 
her  emotion,  she  remarked  that  it  was  a  fine  day. 
He  assented.  Passers-by  saw  them  and  smiled,  but 
they  were  unconcious  of  the  presence  of  others. 

"Can  I  —  can  I  speak  to  ye?"  stammered  Tod- 
die. 

Devina  frowned.  "  I  've  no  time  the  now."  She 
hesitated  as  she  saw  his  face  fall,  then,  with  a  rising 
color :  "  But  —  if  ye  like  —  I  '11  meet  ye  this  after- 
noon." 

"  Thank  ye."  His  throat  was  dry ;  the  words 
would  scarcely  come. 

"  On  the  East  sands  at  two  o'clock." 

"  Thank  ye." 

With  a  curt  nod  she  turned  away. 

"  Stop,"  cried  Toddie.  Somewhat  surprised,  she 
obeyed. 

"Can  I  bring  Bob?" 

A  rare  smile  parted  her  lips. 

"  Bring  him,  and  welcome,"  she  said. 


278 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

TODDIE  was  the  first  to  arrive  at  the  trysting 
place.     Nor  is  this  to  be  wondered  at,  seeing 
that  he  was  a  full  half  hour  in  advance  of  the  ap- 
pointed time. 

As  all  who  have  visited  St.  Andrews  know  well,  the 
East  sands  are  the  small  strip  of  shingles  that  sweeps 
from  the  primitive  harbor  to  the  cliffs  that  extend 
in  a  series  of  misty  headlands  towards  the  south. 
Separated  from  the  world  of  golf  by  the  length  and 
breath  of  the  town,  the  East  sands  are,  so  to  speak, 
a  place  apart.  They  seem  to  have  forsworn  all  con- 
nection with  sports  and  pastimes,  with  bathing  ma- 
chines and  pierrots,  with  nursery-maids  and  children, 
and  to  have  retired  from  humanity  in  a  fit  of  peni- 
tential loneliness.  For  them  the  cries  of  golfers 
wafted  over  the  sand-dunes  are  replaced  by  natural 
and  more  harmonious  sounds  —  the  thunder  of  un- 
wearying surf,  and  the  infinitely  melancholy  piping 
of  sea-birds.  Rarely  do  passers-by  disturb  their  se- 
renity. At  times  some  solitary  figure  may  be  seen, 
slow-moving,  often-pausing,  as  it  laboriously  gathers 

279 


TODDIE 

driftwood  to  feed  a  cottage  fire ;  or  from  the  shelter 
of  the  little  harbor  a  fishing  boat  may  be  distin- 
guished, passing  seawards. 

That  is  all.  Yet  are  they  not  without  beauty  — 
a  beauty  rare  and  all  their  own.  Nature  has  not 
adorned  them  with  shells,  but  she  has  painted  them 
with  the  richest  and  freshest  colors  from  her  palette. 
The  shingles,  of  somewhat  coarse  grain,  gleams  wetly 
in  the  sun,  like  ruddy  gold.  The  rocks  and  boulders 
that  form  the  southern  boundary  are  a  stone-house 
of  ever-living  wonder  and  delight  —  pools,  forgotten 
of  the  tide,  limpid  and  crystal-clear  —  seaweed,  thick 
and  brown  as  a  mermaid's  tresses  —  delicate  growths, 
green  as  emerald  —  and  salt  faint  flowers  that  seem  to 
have  drunk  sorrow  from  the  tears  of  the  sea.  Among 
and  over  these  the  tides  love  to  play,  with  the  lapse 
and  gush  of  waves,  with  sudden  sallies  and  swift  re- 
treats. And  as  though  imbued  with  a  spirit  of  co- 
quetry, essentially  feminine,  this  spot  so  secluded 
steals  the  elemental  loveliness  of  every  changeful  hour, 
—  decks  itself  in  gleams  and  shadows,  in  the  amber 
and  amethyst  of  dawn,  in  the  gold  of  noon,  in  the 
pearls  and  moonstones  of  night. 

Toddie  stood  motionless  and  watched  the  sea.  Bob, 
who  up  to  that  moment  had  been  taxing  his  four  in- 
defatigable legs  to  their  utmost,  challenging  the 
waves  and  hurling  defiance  at  the  sea-gulls,  now  stood 
beside  his  master  gazing  inquiringly  up  into  his  face 

280 


TODDIE 

and  wagging  an  encouraging  tail.  But  Toddie  was 
unconscious  of  these  advances. 

A  storm  had  raged  far  out  at  sea.  The  swell  of 
its  subsiding  was  to  be  marked  in  the  unusual  size 
of  the  waves.  These  ocean-born  creatures,  instinct 
with  life  and  strength,  and  a  savage  Titanic  glee, 
came  shouting  towards  him,  rank  behind  rank,  in 
long  level  lines ;  and,  as  each  curved  to  the  crash 
of  its  dissolution,  its  snowy  crest,  catching  the  sun- 
light, glittered  like  a  cascade  of  diamonds.  Some- 
thing of  their  wild  poetry  passed  into  Toddie's  blood 
and  thrilled  him  strangely,  he  knew  not  why.  Yet 
the  reason  was  not  far  to  seek.  The  great  heart  of 
ocean  beat  as  tumultuously  as  did  his  own  —  the  glad 
paean  of  its  praise  found  an  echo  within  his  soul.  She 
was  coming. 

The  half  hour  had  barely  elapsed  when  Devina  was 
to  be  seen  walking  along  the  path  that  led  from  the 
high  road.  She  approached  quickly,  as  one  sure  of 
being  expected.  At  the  sight,  Bob  growled  softly. 

"  Be  quiet,  ye  beast,"  said  his  master  in  a  rough 
tone,  which,  however,  deceived  no  one.  Then  with 
a  break  in  his  voice.  "  Oh,  Bob,  Bob,  she  's  here ! 
Whatever  can  I  say  ?  " 

Aware  that  she  was  being  watched,  Devina's  pace 
relaxed.  She  neared  him  with  slow  sedateness,  a 
black  figure  with  downcast  eyes,  picking  her  way 
with  exaggerated  care  among  the  debris  that  littered 

281 


TODDIE 

the  beach.  "  I  mustna  show  the  man  I  'm  carin'," 
she  kept  repeating  to  herself,  and  schooled  her  fea- 
tures to  an  expression  of  grim  immobility.  But  for 
all  that,  her  heart  beat  fast,  and  the  surf,  the  shingle 
and  the  cliffs  swam  in  a  radiance  that  emanated 
as  much  from  her  own  thoughts  as  from  the  bright- 
ness of  the  sky. 

Ever  since  she  had  recognized  Toddie  in  the  Kirk 
she  had  been  the  slave  of  emotions  that  filled  her 
with  exquisite  joy  and  with  tremulous  fear.  The 
world  had  changed.  She  moved  through  it  in  a  beau- 
tiful dream.  Familiar  objects  had  become  strangely 
unfamiliar.  Vaguely  she  marveled  thereat,  but  for- 
got them,  as  indeed  she  forgot  all  else,  in  listening 
to  the  singing  of  her  heart.  At  times,  rousing  her- 
self with  an  affort,  she  sternly  stigmatized  her  frame 
of  mind  as  "  daft-like."  It  was  but  a  momentary 
return  to  her  old  self,  for  even  as  she  spoke  she  was 
again  floating  in  regions  of  the  vague  and  bright. 

Her  companions  at  the  midday  meal  commented 
on  the  change ;  struck  by  the  unusual  softness  of 
her  voice  and  by  the  subdued  and  twilight  brightness 
of  her  eyes. 

"What's  come  to  the  woman,"  ejaculated  the 
cook,  pausing  in  the  act  of  washing  up  the  plates. 
"  She  didna  scold  ye  for  upsettin'  yer  gravy  — 
though  it 's  me  that  should  mind,  for  it 's  me  that 
washes  the  cloth." 

282 


TODDIE 

"  Aye,"  returned  Jessie,  looking  up  from  the  crit- 
ical inspection  of  a  fashion  plate,  "  and  did  ye  hear 
her  speak  to  the  cat?  She  never  missed  the  bit  o' 
meat.  I  was  feared  she  would  see  me  laughin'.  Aye, 
cook,  take  ma  word  for  it,  it 's  eether  stomach-ache 
or  love.  They  both  grips  a  lassie  the  same  way. 
She  's  for  oot  again  this  afternoon,  and  that 's  her 
new  hat  she  's  on.  Whisht  —  here  she  is !  " 

Toddie  had  thus  achieved  a  triumph  of  which  he 
was  unaware.  To  absorb  a  woman's  mind  —  is  not 
that  an  immense  conquest  for  a  man  who  aspires  to 
be  loved?  For  in  love,  as  in  life,  nothing  stands  still. 
It  is  either  a  diminution  or  a  progression.  Once 
within  the  magic  circle  —  having  once  succeeded  in 
enthralling  her  imagination,  in  coloring  her  dreams, 
a  man  may  march  straight  to  a  woman's  heart. 
Everything  conspires  to  assist  him.  Her  every 
thought  has  become  his  unconscious  ally,  and  in  whis- 
pering of  him  continually  fans  the  flame  that  de- 
vours her  peace  of  mind.  Until  the  end  —  and  God 
alone  knows  whether  it  be  for  better  or  for  worse  — 
there  can  be  no  drawing  back. 


283 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

WHAT  have  ye  to  say?  "  questioned  Devina. 
Her  agitation,  and  the  effort  necessary  to 
conceal  it,  imparted  unintentional  severity  to  her  tone. 
This  was  precisely  the  interrogation   which  Toddie 
had  foreseen  and  feared. 

The  light  in  Devina's  eyes  might  have  given  him 
some  insight  as  to  the  true  state  of  her  mind  — 
but  Toddie  was  unversed  in  woman's  eyes.  He  heard 
only  the  hard  voice ;  he  felt  only  the  overmastering 
presence,  and  pathetically  conscious  of  his  unworthi- 
ness,  he  trembled. 

Something  in  the  wordless  appeal  of  his  face 
prompted  her  to  come  to  his  aid. 

"  I  didna  think  to  be  talkin'  to  the  likes  of  you 
again." 

"  No,  Devina."  The  Christian  name  slipped  from 
him  unawares.  Neither  noticed  the  familiarity. 

"  No,"  she  said  decidedly,  poking  at  the  sand  with 
her  umbrella,  "  not  after  what  I  saw  in  yer  room. 
But  —  but  we  all  has  our  faults,  and  it  says  much 
for  us  if  we  can  get  the  better  of  them."  She  paused, 


TODDIE 

then  with  increased  awkwardness :  "  I  spoke  to  yer 
friend  Tamraas  Macintyre  the  ither  night." 

"Then  —  it  was  true?"  blurted  Toddie,  his  face 
aglow. 

"  What  was  true?  " 

Toddie,  overcome  with  modest  embarrassment, 
smiled  deprecatingly. 

"  Weel?  "  she  insisted. 

"  Oh,  I  ken  fine  it  doesna  suit  me  at  all.  There  's 
naethin'  noble  aboot  me,  I  'm  just  a  common  caddie. 
So  you  can  pictur*  ma  feelin's  when  you  said  it." 

"Noble?" 

"  Aye,  that  was  the  word.  Have  ye  forgotten  it? 
Aweel — "  He  gazed  up  at  her  with  respectful  ad- 
miration — "  a  woman  like  you  canna  be  expected  to 
remember  all  the  kind  things  she  says." 

"  I  never  said  it." 

"Never  said  it!" 

"  No." 

"  Then  —  then  it  was  all  lies  he  was  tellin'  me.  It 
wasna  true  you  was  cryin',  eh  ?  " 

Her  face  flushed  —  she  looked  away. 

"  Wait  till  I  catch  him !  " 

"  Na,  let  him  be.  He  'd  no  business  to  say  that, 
but  maybe  he  meant  well.  An  auld  man  like  him 
canna  be  expected  to  account  for  the  silly  things  he 
says." 

His    anger   was    extinguished    suddenly,   like   the 


TODDIE 

flame  of  a  lamp  blown  out  by  the  wind.  To  it  suc- 
ceeded depression  and  the  natural  irritation  of  one 
who,  face  to  face  with  a  longed-for  opportunity, 
finds  himself  incapable  of  taking  advantage  of  it. 
His  castle  of  hope  had  then  been  built  on  the  sands? 
Did  she  love  him?  Did  she  even  care  for  him  a 
little?  He  looked  despairingly  at  her,  and  doubted. 

"  Your  friend  was  no'  sae  wrong  after  all." 

Devina  spoke  with  feigned  composure.  In  her 
heart  she  longed  to  make  amends,  for  her  conscience 
pricked  her.  Toddie  listened  breathlessly.  Avoid- 
ing his  eyes,  she  continued: 

"  I  won't  deny  that  I  thought  it  —  weel,  not  noble, 
but  decent  of  ye  —  though,  mind  ye,  I  never  said  it." 

Gladness  and  relief  positively  radiated  from  every 
inch  of  Toddie's  person. 

"  If  it 's  been  me  that 's  caused  you  to  give  up 
the  drink,  and  —  and  to  clean  yerself ,  I  'm  glad  — 
though  — "  catching  sight  of  his  expression  she  made 
haste  to  qualify  her  approval  by  adding  — "  I  think 
you  might  have  shaved  the  day." 

"  But  I  have !     See  here !     Can  ye  not  see  ?  " 

She  inspected  him  closer. 

(t  Aye,  now  ye  hold  yer  face  like  that  I  can  see 
ye  've  been  at  it.  But,  ma  word.  Ye  've  made  a 
poor  job  of  it.  The  one  side's  no'  that  bad,  but 
the  ither  's  like  an  auld  scrubbin'  brush !  I  'm  glad 
I  'm  not  a  man.  It 's  a  mercy  naebody  kisses  ye." 

286 


TODDIE 

She  broke  off  in  consternation.  Her  color  again 
flamed  high.  Then,  distressfully  conscious  of  blush- 
ing, and  embarrassed  by  his  silent  inspection,  woman- 
like she  vented  her  feelings  upon  him. 

"  What  are  ye  starin'  at?  " 

"At  you.  You're  in  the  right.  I'm  no'  verra 
weel  acquaint  wi'  kisses.  Nae  doot  if  I  'd  onybody  to 
kiss  me  I  'd  shave  closer.  But  I  'm  glad  you 
care.  Ye  see,  I  've  never  had  naebody  all  ma  life 
to  care  how  I  look.  Bob  's  awful  unobservant.  When 
ye  live  wi'  a  body  like  that  it  makes  ye  indifferent." 

"  I  wonder  you  're  not  particular  for  yer  ain  sake 
—  out  of  self-respect.  D'  ye  never  look  in  the 
glass  ?  " 

"  No'  verra  often.  When  a  body  's  bristly  it 's 
kind  of  discouragin'." 

"  I  'm  amazed  to  hear  ye." 

"  Aye,  I  daresay.  Now  you  " —  he  gazed  at  her 
with  admiration  — "  nae  doot  you  're  always  lookin' 
in  the  glass." 

"  Why  d'  ye  say  that?  "  She  frowned  at  him  sus- 
piciously. 

"  You  're  that  bonnie." 

The  compliment  slipped  out  almost  unawares.  So 
simply  and  from  his  heart  did  it  spring,  that  Toddie 
seemed  to  be  thinking  aloud,  rather  than  uttering 
premeditated  words.  But  no  sooner  had  he  spoken, 
than,  recognizing  the  significance  of  his  remarks,  he 

287 


TODDIE 

stopped  himself  abruptly,  a  look  of  consternation  in 
his  eyes. 

Was  that  a  compliment?  He  feared  it.  That  he 
should  think  it,  was  inevitable,  but  that  he  should  be 
brazen  enough  to  utter  it,  was  inexcusable.  It  was  an 
unheard-of  liberty.  She  would  be  indignant.  He 
was  in  for  it  now.  With  his  eyes  fixed  on  her,  he 
waited  anxiously. 

But  Devina  had  quickly  averted  her  face.  Was 
she  afraid  to  let  him  see  how  deeply  the  simple  little 
speech  had  touched  her  —  how  eagerly  welcome  to 
ears  unaccustomed  to  compliments  was  this  spontane- 
ous proof  of  his  admiration?  Perhaps. 

The  low  winter's  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  sand- 
hills, so  that  the  shingle  whereon  they  stood  had 
already  withdrawn  into  shadow.  The  golden  rays, 
however,  passing  directly  over  their  heads,  fell  full 
upon  the  lines  of  advancing  breakers,  lending  an 
indescribable  glory  to  the  crests  that  leapt  at  the 
light.  Far  out  on  the  billowy  blue,  sea-birds  hov- 
ered, fishing.  The  pure  expanse  of  heaven  was 
flecked  only  by  one  cloud,  so  diaphanous  in  texture, 
and  delicate  in  hue,  as  to  appear  fashioned  from 
dreams  in  the  heart  of  a  rose.  No  signs  of  human 
lif  e  were  to  be  seen.  They  were  alone  on  that  deso- 
late golden  beach. 

The  magic  of  the  hour  whispered  to  them  of  love 
—  suggested  tender  analogies  between  the  day  that 

288 


TODDIE 

died  in  beauty  before  their  eyes,  and  the  day  that 
dawned  in  rapture  within  their  hearts.  Nature  called 
to  them,  as  she  calls  to  us  all  when  love  beckons,  but 
neither  could  respond.  The  time  was  not  yet. 
Would  it  ever  come?  Neither  knew.  Yet  there  was 
a  tension  in  the  air,  a  thrill  of  suspense,  a  tremble 
of  anticipation,  a  sickness  of  incertitude.  One  of 
those  wonderful  moments  —  encountered  how  rarely ! 
—  when  life  seems  to  stand  breathless,  conscious  of 
its  heart-beats,  before  some  unimagined  opportunity, 
pregnant  with  fate,  dimly  recognized,  yet  vital,  sol- 
emn, all-important.  Both  felt  it.  Each  in  his  or 
her  own  way.  Yet  each  with  poignancy,  almost 
with  suffering.  For  great  emotions  cannot  be  born 
without  stress  of  soul.  At  the  birth  of  love,  as  of  a 
child,  there  is  pain. 


289 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

MOVED  by  a  mutual  impulse  they  slowly  quitted 
the  shore,  and,  having  gained  the  summit  of 
the  cliffs,  seated  themselves  on  a  boulder  still  warm 
with  sun. 

The  scene  that  unrolled  itself  before  them  was 
one  of  indescribable  loveliness.  Beneath,  heaved  the 
sea,  partly  in  light,  partly  in  shadow.  Facing  them, 
on  the  far  side  of  the  bay,  the  hills  of  Forfarshire 
extended  along  the  blue  horizon,  alluring  and  beckon- 
ing like  the  delectable  mountains  of  some  promised 
land.  But  by  far  the  most  noteworthy  feature  was 
the  town  itself.  The  atmosphere  was  clear,  yet  for 
some  reason  the  smoke  from  the  chimneys  clung  to 
the  many  houses,  swathing  them  in  filmy  folds,  en- 
dowing them  with  a  certain  mysterious  quality  of 
unreality.  Crowning  the  cliffs  stood  this  phantom 
city,  comparable  only  to  the  aerial  palaces  begirt 
with  battlements,  which  we  all  have  seen  in  the  light 
of  strange  sunsets,  and  from  which  we  all  people 
with  dreams  till  the  twilight  steals  them  from  us. 

*'  It 's  better  nor  a  pictur',"  murmured  Toddle, 
290 


TODDIE 

but  he  instinctively  turned  from  it  to  his  companion's 
face. 

"  Aye,"  assented  Devina.  She  spoke  like  one  in  a 
dream. 

For  awhile  they  conversed  in  low  tones. 

Devina  had  grown  strangely  monosyllabic,  op- 
pressed by  the  tumultuous  and  incoherent  agitation 
of  her  thoughts,  overcome  by  unfamiliar  shyness, 
strangely  troubling,  yet  strangely  sweet.  She 
could  not  trust  herself  to  volunteer  a  remark,  or  even 
to  look  at  Toddie;  the  one  preoccupation  that  ab- 
sorbed her  every  energy  was  to  cling  desperately  to 
the  shreds  of  self-control  that  she  felt  were  slipping, 
slipping  away  from  her,  and,  above  all,  to  conceal 
her  weakness  from  her  companion. 

Her  propinquity  moved  Toddie  profoundly.  Her 
presence,  intensely  realized,  intoxicated  his  brain  like 
strong  wine.  Not  only  her  mysterious  soul  endeared 
itself  inexpressibly  to  him,  but  her  person  also,  and 
even  her  dress.  Everything  about  her  became  the 
recipient  of  a  reverence  too  deep  for  words.  And 
as  material  surroundings  at  rare  moments  become  a 
part  of  all  that  one  feels,  so  that  the  scent  of  a 
flower  or  the  strain  of  a  song  has  the  witchcraft  irre- 
sistibly to  recall  the  past,  so  in  Toddie's  mind  the 
deep  note  of  the  sea,  the  brine  upon  his  lips,  the  sun- 
light gilding  the  waves,  all  became  one  in  beauty  and 

291 


TODDIE 

treasured  remembrance  with  the  face  of  the  woman 
by  his   side.     They   were  but  platitudes  he   uttered 

—  but  do  not  the  most  trivial  sentences  oftentimes 
conceal  the.  deepest  feelings? 

"  It 's  queer  how  things  turn  oot,"  Toddie  haz- 
arded at  length. 

"  Aye,"   assented  Devina   again. 

"  That  day  —  in  yer  kitchen  —  d'  ye  mind  it?  " 

"When?" 

"  The  time  I  was  wet  and  ye  gave  me  tea." 

"  Aye." 

"  Weel,  if  onybody  had  told  me  then  that  you  and 
me  would  be  sittin'  here  like  —  like  this,  I  wouldna 
have  believed  them ;  would  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

Another  silence. 

"  It 's  not  bein'  here  only  —  onybody  could  be  that 

—  but  it 's  —  it 's  what  I  'm  feelin'." 
He  paused,  but  she  made  no  comment. 

*'  Aye,"  he  nodded,  then  looked  at  her  nervously, 
suddenly  conscious  of  a  hammering  in  his  breast, 
overpowered  by  emotions  that  urged  him  to  speak 
yet  which  stifled  him  before  he  could  give  them  utter- 
ance, with  no  thought,  no  wish,  no  desire,  but  to  give 
birth  to  the  oppression  that  labored  in  travail  within 
his  heart. 

Bob,  peculiarly  sensitive  to  the  inflections  of  his 
master's  voice,  looked  up  in  Toddie's  face,  then  crept 

292 


TODDIE 

close  to  the  beloved  presence.  The  action  was  elo- 
quent of  sympathy.  It  said :  "  I  am  here." 

"  It 's  what  I  'm  f  eelin',"  repeated  Toddie  labor- 
iously, intent  only  on  Devina.  "Aye,  it's  what 
I  'm  feelin'." 

He  broke  off,  for  his  throat  was  dry,  and  the  words 
refused  to  come. 

Would  she  help  him  —  she  who  had  always  taken 
the  lead,  she  who  was  so  much  wiser  and  better  than 
he  —  she  who  always  seemed  to  know  what  to  do 
and  say?  But  no.  Devina  sat  motionless  by  his 
side,  her  eyes  downcast,  her  breath  suspended,  an 
indescribable  look  on  her  face.  Was  she  feeling  too  ? 
Toddie  scarcely  dared  to  hope  it.  And  yet  —  he  had 
never  seen  her  like  this.  He  gazed  at  her  with  awe. 
She  inspired  him  with  emotion  that  unmanned  him. 
Nervously  he  cleared  his  throat. 

"  I  've  made  an  awful  mistake.  Aye,  ever  since 
I  was  a  laddie.  I  thought  women  couldna  be  trusted. 
I  ken  better  now." 

He  paused,  passed  a  hand  across  his  damp  fore- 
head, then  continued: 

"  Never  think  I  'm  tryin'  to  excuse  maself .  Na, 
it 's  no'  a  thing  ye  can  excuse.  It 's  just  a  sort  o' 
insult  a  man  has  to  give  his  life  to  make  folk  forget. 
The  way  I  've  talked !  Aye,  mony  and  mony  a  time. 
I'm  just  fair  ashamed  of  it  now.  But  ye '11  never 
forgive  that,  Devina  ?  " 


TODDIE 

She  aroused  herself  with  an  effort.  Her  eyes  met 
his  with  one  quick,  searching  look,  then  again  sought 
the  ground. 

"  Yes." 

Toddie  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  I  'm  glad,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  had  to  tell  ye, 
for  it 's  you  that  I  've  insulted  all  this  while  withoot 
knowin'  it ;  aye,  and  more  nor  that,  it 's  you  that 's 
changed  me." 

The  gloved  hands  upon  the  parasol  trembled. 

Toddie  continued: 

"  Aye,  it 's  been  all  your  work.  It 's  come  on 
gradual  like,  me  bein'  sort  o'  stony  ground  as  the 
Bible  says,  wi'  a  terrible  lot  o'  weeds,  too.  But  you 
made  me  see  what  I  was.  Ye  mind  what  you  called 
me?" 

"  Don't ! "  she  faltered,  and  there  was  pain  in  her 
voice. 

"  But  I  will.  I  canna  help  it.  I  'm  proud  of  it 
now.  A  disgrace.  That  was  the  word,  and  it  suited 
ine  fine.  I  was  a  disgrace,  and  I  never  even  sus- 
pected it.  But,  please  God,  ye  '11  never  need  to  call 
me  that  again.'* 

His  immense  earnestness  and  the  sincerity  that  rang 
in  every  word  he  uttered  moved  her  deeply  in  spite 
of  all  her  efforts  to  remain  prejudiced,  to  be  on  her 
guard.  As  she  listened  to  him,  as  she  realized  his 
worth,  her  doubts  wavered  and  broke,  her  fears  were 

294 


TODDIE 

lulled  to  sleep,  the  joy  that  she  had  sought  to  stifle 
sang  again  in  her  heart.  As  she  felt  this  joy,  which 
was  a  regeneration  or  upheaval  of  her  whole  nature, 
Devina  thrilled. 

"  Listen,"  she  whispered.  "  You  've  changed  me, 
too." 

"Mel" 

"  Just  you." 

"  It  >S  no'  possible !  " 

"  It  is.  It 's  true.  I  feel  I  must  tell  ye.  Per- 
haps ye  didna  ken,  but  once  I  thought  —  I  thought 
I  cared  for  some  one.  Maybe  it  was  ma  fault  — 
whisht,  dinna  speak  —  but  it  was  a  mistake,  an'  it 
made  me  hard.  Nae  doot  you  've  noticed  it." 

No  words  contradicted  her,  but  his  face  glowed 
with  the  protest,  the  sympathy,  and  the  devotion  that 
enveloped  her  as  with  an  atmosphere. 

She  continued: 

"  It  made  me  hard  and  unjust.  You  're  not  the 
only  one  that 's  been  to  blame.  I  was  blind.  I 
thought  all  men  alike  —  all  bad,  I  mean.  And  more 
—  when  a  woman's  heart  is  sore  she  says  things  she 
doesna  mean.  I  said  things  against  you." 

"Did  ye?" 

"Aye.     Once  I  called  ye  pitch." 

"  Weel,  I  deserved  it." 

"  Ye  did  n't !  "  She  contradicted  him  hotly.  "  Ye 
never  deserved  it.  It  was  just  wickedness  on  ma  part. 

295 


TODDIE 

Aye,  and  envy.  I  felt  often  that  miserable  just  to 
think  what  a  mess  I  'd  made  of  ma  life,  and  to  see 
ithers  gettin'  all  the  attention,  and  me  none.  But  — " 
her  voice  sank,  and  she  looked  studiously  away.  "  But 
even  when  I  spoke  most  again'  ye,  I  —  I  aye  liked  ye 
fine." 

The  pure  color  had  risen  to  her  face,  and,  softened 
by  the  twilight,  her  profile  showed  dark  yet  distinct 
against  the  rosy  sky.  Toddie's  eye  glistened.  Some- 
thing tumultuous  swelled  in  his  breast.  The  whis- 
pered confession  rang  loud  in  his  enraptured  ears 
like  a  blare  from  silver  trumpets.  It  set  his  heart 
ablaze.  It  filled  his  whole  being  with  gladness,  and 
couragew  and  fresh  life  and  delicious  hope.  The 
world  seemed  suddenly  to  be  re-born  in  beauty.  All 
inanimate  things  —  the  sun,  the  sky,  the  very  grass 
at  his  feet  —  re j  oiced  and  exulted. 

"  And  now  — "  She  made  a  gesture  as  though 
dismissing  the  episode  — "  Now  I  have  to  thank  ye 
—  and  I  feel  I  canna  do  it.  I  never  was  good  at 
speakin'.  Oh,  ye  '11  never  ken  what  this  has  been  to 
me !  You  're  a  man  and  canna  tell  what  a  woman 
feels  when  she  kens  there 's  somebody  that  under- 
stands. It 's  just  everything.  It  wasna  easy  tellin' 
ye.  I  never  spoke  sae  free  before  —  never.  I  canna 
think  how  ye  made  me.  But  I  'm  glad.  Nae 
doot- — "  She  paused,  then  in  a  forced  voice  con- 
tinued hurriedly :  "  Nae  doot  we  '11  no'  meet  often, 

296 


TODDIE 

but  I  '11  not  forget  this  talk  and  all  your  kindness 
and  —  and  that 's  all,  and  now  I  must  be  gettin' 
back." 

Toddie  started.  A  gulf  of  despair  seemed  to  close 
over  him  —  the  sunlight  to  be  blotted  out. 

Was  this  all?  Was  he  to  lose  her  now  when  she 
had  seemed  so  near?  Yes,  she  had  risen  to  her  feet 
—  she  was  preparing  to  go  home. 

A  cry  of  passionate  entreaty  burst  from  him. 

"  Devina !  Stop !  I  canna  part  from  ye  like 
this!" 

She  did  not  speak,  but  she  gazed  at  him  steadily, 
controlling  herself  with  a  great  effort,  and  Toddie 
will  never  forget  the  look  within  her  eyes. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

Slowly,  and  still  in  silence  she  obeyed. 

She  was  now  sitting  beside  him,  erect,  her  face 
averted.  A  look  of  suspense,  painful  in  its  intensity, 
imparted  a  strange,  unnatural  fixity  to  her  features. 

Toddie  began  to  speak.  The  short  and  broken 
•sentences  seemed  to  be  forced  from  his  vitals.  They 
trembled  under  the  stress  of  violent  emotion.  The 
whole  man  shook  with  a  hope  unnerving  as  fear,  and 
with  a  fear  tremulous  as  hope. 

"  I  'm  only  a  caddie.  Not  fit  to  clean  yer  boots. 
But  —  I  think  all  the  world  of  you.  It's  terrible 
presumption,  but  I'd  die  for  ye.  Any  good  that's 
in  me  is  you.  When  I  see  ye  it 's  like  heaven  —  only 

297 


TODDIE 

bonnier.  Devina  —  I  —  I  —  Ma  God,  can  ye  no'  see 
what  I  'm  tryin'  to  tell  ye  I  " 

Despite  her  efforts  at  self-command,  her  bosom 
heaved,  and  the  parasol  bent  between  her  fingers. 

Toddie  leaned  towards  her.  She  felt  his  breath 
upon  her  ear.  The  world  swam  before  her  eyes. 

"  Devina,"  he  cried,  and  his  voice  was  scarcely 
recognizable,  "  Devina,  will  ye  have  me  ?  " 

She  shrank  from  him  as  though  he  had  struck  her, 
then  slowly  facing  him,  came  very  near.  He  could 
see  her  trembling. 

"  D'  ye  mean  it?  "  she  whispered. 

"  As  God  sees  me,"  he  replied  solemnly. 

"  Oh,  be  careful,  be  careful,"  she  cried,  torn  be- 
tween longing  and  re-awakened  fear.  "  Be  sure,  be 
very  sure.  I  was  took  in  before.  I  thought  ma 
heart  was  killed.  I  canna  go  through  with  it  again. 
I  'd  rather  die.  What 's  a  lassie's  heart  to  some  men  ? 
Just  a  plaything  to  dandle,  to  break,  and  to  fling 
away.  But  you  — "  Her  eyes  searched  his  very 
soul  — "  I  've  built  high  on  you.  You  wouldna  de- 
ceive me,  would  ye  —  and  me  trustin'  ye  ?  " 

But  Toddie  was  past  words.  Fiercely  he  gripped 
her  arm. 

"  I  see  you  would  na ! "  she  cried,  and  her  voice 
broke  into  a  laugh  that  was  half  a  sob.  "  I  see  ye 
would  na.  It 's  come  to  me  after  all  —  to  me !  I 
canna  believe  it.  Me  that  thought  naebody  would 

298 


TODDIE 

ever  care  for  me !  But,  ye  do  —  ye  do.  Bob,  come 
here.  Listen  to  what  he  says.  Toddie,  tell  it  me 
again." 

Softly  twilight  descended  —  the  hour  of  happy 
illusions,  for  is  not  illusion  itself  a  twilight  of  the 
soul  that  we  love  to  people  with  dreams? 

Upon  the  summit  of  the  cliff  Devina  and  Toddie 
still  sat  side  by  side. 

Nothing  is  more  eloquent,  more  exquisite  than  the 
silence  of  those  who  love.  Voluble  with  feelings  too 
heart-oppressed  for  expression,  it  soars  far  above 
speech,  for  in  silence  alone  does  the  soul  become  audi- 
ble. More  delicate,  more  intimate,  more  intense  than 
language ;  its  tender,  hushed  pauses  comprise  all 
words,  all  passion,  all  adoration.  It  is  to  mere  sound 
what  a  tear  is  to  laughter.  The  silence  of  lovers! 
—  the  infinite  bending  to  listen  —  it  is  eternity  hold- 
ing its  breath. 

At  length  Toddie,  awakening  from  a  dream  of 
happiness  whispered: 

"  Devina." 

His  manner  of  enunciating  her  name  caused  her 
to  lean  towards  him.  Even  Bob,  sitting  between 
them,  wondered. 

"  Devina,"  he  continued,  "  I  've  somethin'  to  tell 

ye." 

"  Yes,  Toddie." 

"  I  'm  af eared  ye  '11  no'  like  it." 
299 


TODDIE 

Devina  smiled. 

"  It 's  a  fact.  It 's  botherin'  me.  It 's  about  the 
Major  and  Miss  Charity." 

He  paused,  then  emboldened  by  the  dusk,  con- 
tinued : 

"  I  meant  to  work  honest  with  ye.  Sure  as  death 
I  did,  but  somehow  or  ither,  I  changed  ma  mind." 

"Did  ye?" 

"  Ye  ken  how  it  was,  you  wantin'  to  save  her,  and 
me  him?  " 

"  Aye." 

"  Weel,  what  with  you,  and  me  thinkin'  aboot  ye 
all  the  time,  I  sort  o'  got  sorry  for  the  Major.  I 
seemed  to  see  he  didna  need  to  be  saved.  I  've  done 
worse  than  that.  I  've  —  I  've  told  him  to  ask  her." 

Guilty,  anxious,  but  secretly  impenitent,  Toddie 
waited  for  the  indignation  he  merited. 

What  was  this?  Devina  was  laughing!  He 
scarcely  recognized  the  sound,  so  unusual  was  it,  so 
full  of  happiness. 

"  It  that  all?  "  she  cried. 

"  All ! " 

"  Aye,  if  I  've  onything  to  forgive,  so  have  you." 

"  How 's  that  ? "  he  inquired,  inexpressibly  re- 
lieved. 

"  I  've  changed  too.  Aye,  it  was  your  fault,  for 
I  was  thinkin'  about  you."  Her  voice  sank,  and 
she  laid  a  hand  upon  his  arm  —  as  he  felt  its  light 

300 


TODDIE 

touch,  there  was  no  man  in  the  whole  world  so  proud 
as  Toddie. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued  softly,  "  thinkin'  of  you 
made  me  see  things  too.  What  right  had  I  to  keep 
her  from  happiness,  her  that  young  bonnie,  and  him 
carin'  for  her.  I  'm  glad  now,  for  I  ken  how  she  '11 
be  f eelin'.  Ye  see,  I  knew  he  meant  to  ask  her  —  a 
woman  kens  these  things  fine  —  so  as  the  lassie  has 
nae  mother  and  ought  to  be  prepared,  I  just  told  her 
to  take  him." 


THE    END 


301 


A    000036626    0 


